
Qass. 
Book. 



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etlaravtdh- ETTMu 



THE LIFE 

OF 

WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. 
• ,— — — 

COMPILED 

FROM HIS CORRESPONDENCE, 

AND OTHER 

AUTHENTIC SOURCES OF INFORMATION: 

CONTAINING 

REMARKS ON HIS WRITINGS, AND ON THE PECULIARITIES 
OF HIS INTERESTING CHARACTER, 

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED. 






BY THOMAS TAYLOR, 



Untainted with the blandishments of vice. 
Which mark the manners of the present age, 
He sought and found the pearl of precious price 
Which stands recorded in the sacred page. 
Yet, spite of all that wisdom could impart. 
And all the fervour of religious flame. 
Grief poured a tide of anguish through his heart, 
And shook the fabric of his mental frame." 



PHILADELPHIA: 

KEY & BIDDLE, 23 MINOR STREET. 

1833. 



^^^ 



'Or WW 



.SW^H^ 






R. D. ALEXANDER, Esq. F.L.S. 

THE STEADY, DETERMINED, AND PERSEVERING FRIEND 
OF HUMANITY, 

THIS ImZTH 

OF THE AMIABLE, PIOUS, AND HIGHLY-GIFTED, 
BUT DEEPLY-AFFLICTED POET, 

COWPER, 

WHICH OWES ITS EXISTENCE ENTIRELY TO HIS SUGGESTION, 

IS MOST RESPECTFULIiY INSCRIBED, 

AS A SLIGHT, BUT SINCERE AND GRATEFUL, 
TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM, 

FOR THE NUMEROUS UNMERITED FAVOURS RECEIVED FROM 
HIM, 

BY HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE. 



Many lives of Cowper have already been published. Why, 
then, it may be asked, add to their number 1 Simply because, 
in the opinion of competent judges, no memoir of him has yet 
appeared that gives a full, fair, and unbiassed view of his 
character. 

It is remarked by Dr. Johnson, the poet's kinsman, in his 
preface to the two volumes of Cowper's Private Correspon- 
dence, "that Mr. Hayley omitted the insertion of several in- 
teresting letters in his excellent Life of the poet, out of kind- 
ness to his readers." In doing this, however, amiable and 
considerate as his caution must appear, the gloominess whiclr* 
he has taken from the mind of Cowper, has the effect of 
involving his character in obscurity. People read ' The Let- 
ters' with ' The Task' in their recollection, (and vice versa,) 
and are perplexed. They look for the Cowper of each in the 
other, and find him not. Hence the character of Cowper is 
undetermined ; mystery hangs over it; and the opinions formed 
of him are as various as the minds of the inquirers. 

In alluding to these suppressed letters, the late highly-es- 
teemed Rev. Legh Richmond, once emphatically remarked — 
" Cowper's character will never be clearly and satisfactorily 
understood without them, and they should be permitted to 
exist for the demonstration of the case. I know the import- 
ance of it from numerous conversations I have had both in 
Scotland and in England, on this most interesting subject. 
Persons of truly religious principles, as well as those of little 
or no religion at all, have greatly erred in their estimate of 
this great and good man." 

a2 



VI PREFACE. 

Dr. Johnson's two volumes of Private Correspondence 
satisfactorily supplied this deficiency to all those who have 
the means of consulting them, and the four volumes by Mr. 
Hayley. The author of this memoir has attempted not only 
to bring the substance of these six volumes into one, but to 
communicate information respecting the poet which cannot 
be found in either of those works. He is fully aware of the 
peculiarities of Cowper's case, and has endeavoured to exhi- 
bit them as prominently as was compatible with his design, 
without giving to the memoir too much of that melancholy 
tinge by which the life of its subject was so painfully distin- 
guished. 

In every instance where he could well accomplish it, he 
has made Cowper his own biographer, convinced that it is 
utterly impossible to narrate any circumstance in a manner 
more striking, or in a style more chaste and elegant, than 
Cowper has employed in his inimitable letters. 

To impart ease and perspicuity to the memoir, and to com- 
press it into as small a compass as was consistent with a full 
developement and faithful record of the most interesting par- 
ticulars of Cowper's life, the author has, in a few cases, in- 
serted in one paragraph, remarks extracted from different let- 
ters, addressed more frequently, though not invariably, to the 
same individual. He has, however, taken care to avoid doing 
this where it could lead to any obscurity. 

He has made a free use of all the published records of 
Cowper within his reach, besides availing himself of the 
valuable advice of the Rev. Dr. Johnson, Cowper's kinsman, 
to whom he hereby respectfully tenders his grateful acknow- 
ledgments for bis condescension and kindness, in undertaking 
to examine the manuscript, and for the useful and judicious 
hints respecting it he was pleased to suggest. 

Without concealing a single fact of real importance, the 
author has carefully avoided giving that degree of prominence 
to any painful circumstance in the poet's life, whicli would 
be likely to excite regret in the minds of any of his surviving 
relatives, and which, for reasons the most amiable and per- 



PREFACE. VU 

fectly excusable, they might have wished had been suppress- 
ed ; and he hopes it will be found that he has admitted no- 
thing that can justly offend the most fastidious- 
It is particularly the wish of the author to state, that he 
makes no pretensions to originality in this memoir. He wishes 
it to be regarded only as a compilation ; and all the merit, he 
claims for it, if, indeed, it has any, is for the arrangement of 
those materials which were already furnished for his use. 

He has attempted to make the work interesting to all 
classes, especially to the lovers of literature and genuine 
piety, and to place within the reach of general readers, many 
of whom have neither the means nor the leisure to consult 
larger works, all that is really interesting respecting that 
singularly afflicted individual, whose productions, both poetic 
and prose, can never be read but with delight. 

October 27, 1832. 



TABI.Z3 OF CONTENTS, 



CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX. 



Age CHAPTER I. Page 

Cowper's birth, Nov. 15, 1731, O. S. - - 1 
His ancestry ...--- 1 

Mother's character and epitaph - ^ - - 2 

Poetic tribute to her memory - - - - 3 

6 First School; cruel treatment there - - - 4 

Early serious impressions - - - - 4 

8 Placed under the care of a female oculist - . 5 

9 Enters Westminster school - - - - 5 
Anecdote of him while there ... 5 

18 Acquirements when he left it - - - - 6 

Enters an attorney's office . - - . 6 

Unsuitableness of the profession for him - - 7 

CHAPTER n. 

21 Takes a set of chambers in the Temple . - 9 

Want of employment, and state of his mind - - 9 

23 Commencement of his dejection - - - 10 

24 Visit to Southampton, and its effects - - - 11 



X CONTENTS. 

Age Pog^ 

25 Return to London; inconsistency of his conduct - 12 

26 Death of his father — how it affected him - - 13 

31 Obtains an appointment in the House of Lords - 13 
Severe attack of depression - - - - 14 

32 Gloomy state of his mind - - - - 15 
Repairs to Margate; conduct there - - - 16 
Depth of his melancholy on his return - - 17 
Its lamentable effects - - - - - 18 
Powerful awakenings respecting religion - - 20 
Is visited by Rev. Mr. Madan - - - - 21 
Results of this visit ----- 22 
Sudden and violent nervous attack - - - 22 



CHAPTER ni. 



»«» 



Removal to St. Alban's; painful feelings there - 24 

His brother's visit to him, and its happy results - 25 

33 Discovery of Divine mercy to his mind - - 27 
The great benefits that followed it - - - 27 
Interesting conversation with Dr. Cotton - - 28 
Cowper's close application to the Scriptures - - 28 
Poetic specimen of his first Christian thoughts,: - 29 
Great progress he makes in religion - - - 29 
His excellent remarks on the benefits of affliction - 30 
Great difference between the Christian and the unbeliever 3 1 
His affectionate regard for Dr. Cotton, and gratitude to 

God for placing him under his care - - - 31 

34 Leaves St. Alban's; sensations on the occasion - 32 

CHAPTER IV. 

Entrance on his residence at Huntingdon - - 34 

Depth of his piety - - - - - 35 

How he employed his time - . - 35 

Enjoyment he experienced in religion - - - 36 

Pleasure he felt in corresponding on religious subjects 37 



CONTENTS. XI 

Jge Pegi^ 

His great attention to the operations of Providence 38 

His attachment to Hunting-don . - - 40 

Commencement of his acquaintance with the Unwins 41 

CHAPTER V. 

Becomes an inmate Avith the family . - - 44 
The happy state of his mind, and the manner in which he 

had spent his time - - - - - 45 

35 Of Christians knowing each other in Heaven - 47 
Continued fervour of his piety - - - - 49 
Watchfulness and care over his heart - - 51 

36 Sudden death of Mr. Unwin - - - - 52 

37 Commencement of Cowper's intimacy with Mr. Newton So 

CHAPTER VI. 

His removal with Mrs. Unwin to Olney - - 54 

Serene and peaceful state of his mind - - -55 
Sympathy for the poor, and anxiety to afford them relief 55 

Poetic tribute to the memory of Mr. Thornton - 55 

38 Lively interest he took in the spiritual welfare of his cor- 

respondents, and serious remarks on eternity - 57 

Excellent consolatory remai-ks - - - 58 

Receives tidings of his brother's affliction - - 59 
Cowper's visit to him at Cambridge, and deep concern for 

his salvation - - ... go 

His brother's conversion and death - - - 61 

Impressions it made on Cowper's mind - - 63 

39 Cowper's description of his character, and tribute to his 

memory - - - - . - 64 

41 Begins with Mr. Newton to write the Olney Hymns 65 

CHAPTER VII. 

42 Second attack of depression - - - 68 
Impossible that religion could be the cause . - 69 



XU CONTENTS, 

Mgc Page 

Some remarks of Hayley animadverted upon - 71 

Cowper Idndly taken under Mr. Newton's care - 72 

47 Undertakes to domesticate some leverets - - 73 
Mr. Newton's removal from Olney - - - 73 
Mr. Bull's introduction to Cowper - - - 73 
Cowper's playful description of liis character - - 74 
Begins the translation of Madame Guyon's Songs - 74 

48 Commences writing his original works - - - 74 
Describes the state of his mind - - - 76 
Remarks on the rapid flight of time - - - 78 

49 His opinion respecting the duties of the Sabbath - 81 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Makes preparation for publishing his first volume - 83 

Assigns reasons for becoming an author - - 84 

50 Sends the work to the press - - - - 85 
Great pains he took with his compositions - - 87 
Mr. Newton's preface to the volume - - - 89 
Its publication, and how it was received - - 90 
State of liis mind while composing it - - - 91 
His ardent and sincere piety - - - 91 
Describes the objects he had in view in composing it - 93 

^^ CHAPTER IX. 

Commencement of his acquaintance with Lady Austen - 95 

Poetical epistle to that lady - - - 96 

Lady Austen's removal to Olney - - - 98 

51 Origin of "John Gilpin" .... 99 
Benefits Cowper derived from Lady Austen's company 100 

52 Origin of « The Task" - - - - 101 / 

53 Its completion, and the commencement of his " Homer" 102 
Withdrawal fi-om Lady Austen - - - 104 
Continuance of depression .... io2 
Gloomy and desponding state of liis mind - • 103 



CONTENTS. XIU 

Agt Page 
His remarks on the peculiarity of his own case - 105 
Declines contributing to the " Theological Magazine" 106 
Danger of trifling with our Maker ... 108 
His deep aversion to a formal profession of religion 109 
False professors of religion more dangerous to its in- 
terests than avowed infidels - - - - 111 

CHAPTER X. 

54 Publication of his second volume ... 113 
Humiliating views entertained of himself - . II4 
Commencement of his correspondence with Lady Hesketh 115 
Interesting remarks to that lady - - - 116 
Her intended visit to the poet, and his feelings on the 

occasion . . - . . . . 1^5 
Her arrival at Olney, and its happy effects on Cowper's 

mind ------ 121 

His removal to Weston - . - . ^ 122 

Becomes intimate with the Throckmorton family - 123 

Remarks on tlie effects of frequent removals - 124 

CHAPTER XI. 

Description of his reli^ous experience - - 126 

Ill-grounded apprehensions of his friends - . 128 

Reasons tor translating " Homer" ... 130 

Immense pains he took with it . . . 133 

Diligently employed in its revisal ... 135 

Vexation he experienced from critics - . 137 

CHAPTER Xn. 

55 Interesting description of his house at AVeston - . 141 
Death of Mrs. Unwin's son - - . - 142 
Cowper's distressing feehngs on the occasion - . I43 
Labours again under severe indisposition - . 144 
Commencement of his acquaintance with Mr. Rose 145 

B 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Age Fage 

Continuance of his depression ... 146 

Mr. Rose's second visit to him .... 146 

Recovery of his health .... 147 

Renewal of his correspondence with Mr. Newton - 148 

Justifies himself for undertaking his translation - 150 

56 Vigour with which he prosecuted it . - - 151 
Continued desires after religion ... 153 
The gloomy state of his mind unremoved - - 154 

CHAPTER Xni, 

Reasons for dechning to write on the " Slave Trade" - 156 

Commencement of his correspondence with Mrs. King 157 

Interesting extracts from letters to Mrs. King - 157 

Comparison between us and our ancestors - . 159 

Reflections on the death of Ashly Cowper, Esq. - 160 

Again declines writing on slavery - - - 162 

Close attention to his Homer ... 163 

Remarks on the season - . - - - 163 

Mr. and Mrs. Ne%vton's visit to Weston - - 164 

His mind not always alike gloomy - - - 165 

Amusing imaginary sketch of Mrs, King . - 165 

Mr. Rose's arrival at Weston .... 166 

Lady Hesketh's second visit to the poet - - 167 

57 Indefatigable attention to his translation - 167 
Excuses for his inattention to his correspondents - 168 
Composes several short poems .... 169 
Anecdote of the Northampton pai-ish clerk - - 169 
Aversion to cruelty - . - . -171 
Lines on the death of a cock-fighter - . 171 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Concern for Mrs. Unwin, who was much injured by a fall 174 

Increased attention to his translation - - 175 

58 Revises, to oblige an entire stranger, a volume of hymns 

for children - - - - - - 178 



CONTENTS. XV 

Age Pegs 
Serious reflections on the effects of winter - 180 
Gloomy and painful apprehensions ... 181 
Receipt of his mother's portrait ... 181 
Interesting description of his feelings on the occasion 181 
Judicious advice to his cousin ... 184 
Translates Van Leer's Latin Letters - . - 184 
Continuance of his melancholy depression - 185 
Advantages of a rui'al situation for the cultivation of re- 
ligion ...... 185 

59 Short but veiy severe nervous attack - - 186 
Sends his Homer to the press ... 187 
Immense labour he had bestowed upon it - - 187 
Sympathetic remarks to Mr. Newton on the death of his 

wife ....... 188 

Solicits Mr. Newton for a more regular correspondence 188 

Unabated attachment to religion - - - 189 

CHAFTEK XV. 

Pubhcation of his Homer .... 191 

Remai'ks respecting it - - - - 192 

Benefit it had been to him .... 193 

Prepares materials for his edition of Milton - 194 

Vindication of Milton, and remarks on Paradise Lost - 195 

Unsuccessful attempt to obtain from him original poetry 195 

Commencement of his intimacy with Mr. Hayley - 196 

60 Mrs. Unwin's first attack of paralysis ... 197 
Continuance of his gloomy apprehensions - 198 
Mr. Hayley's first visit to Weston ... 199 
Anecdotes respecting Mr. Hayley's first letter to Cowper 200 
Pleasure Cowper derived fi-om Mr. Hayley's visit 202 
Mrs. Unwin's second paralytic attack - - • 202 
Deep concern df Cowper on tlie occasion - 203 
Depressed state of his mind ... - 203 
Engages to pay Mr. Hayley a ^isit - - 206 



XVI CONTENTS. 

Age Page 

Anxiety respecting the journey - - - 206 

Remai'ks on Mrs. Umvin's piety - - - 207 

Playful feelings on sitting for his portrait - - 208 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Journey to Eartham - - - - 211 

Manner In which he arid Mr. Hayley employed them- 
selves ------ 212 

State of his mind while there - - - 213 

Return to Weston, and interview with General Cowper 214 

Effects of the journey on his mind - - - 215 

Ineffectual efforts at composition - - - 217 

Warmth of his affection for Mr. Hayley - - 217 

61 Preparation for the second edition of Homer] - 219 
Continuance of his depression ... 221 
Use of affliction - .... 222 
Declines a joint literary undertaking . . - 224 
Willing to wi'ite with others a poem entitled The Four 

Ages '-.---- 225 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Mr. Hayley's second visit to Weston - - 227 

Lord Spencer's kind attention to the poet - 227 

62 Cowper's undiminished regard for Mrs. Unwin, and poetic 

tribute to her worth .... 227 

Excellent critical remarks - - - ' 230 

Most severe attack of depression - - - 232 

Lady Hesketh's kind attention ... 232 

Mr. Greatheed's visit and letter to Mi*. Hayley - 233 

Mr. Hayley and his son's visit to Weston - - 234 

63 His Majesty's grant of a pension to the poet - - 236 
Removal into Norfolk in the care of his kinsman - 237 

64 Takes possession of Dunham Lodge - - - 238 
Interest he took in Mr. Wakefield's Homer - 239 



CONTEXTS. XVll 

-%<- Page 

65 Death of Mrs, Unwin - - . - . 240 
Tablet to her memory .... 240 
Dr. Johnson's great attention to the poet - . 241 
Happy results of the Doctor's ingenuity - - 242 

66 Dowager Lady Spencer's visit to the poet - - 242 

67 Stanzas, entitled " The Cast-away" - - 244 
Dr. Johnson's various efforts to afford him relief - 245 

68 The poet's last letter to Mr. Hayley - - 245 
Is visited by Mr. Rose .... 246 
Disconsolate state of his mind - - - 246 
His last words and death, 25th April, 1800 - - 247 
Monumental tablet, and lines to his memory - 248 

CHAPTER XVra. 

Description of his person - . - . 250 

His manners — his eminent piety ... 251 

Attachment to the Established Church - - 251 

Aversion to bigotry — scholastic attainments - 252 

His productions, compared with his predecessors - 252 

Comparison between him, and Milton and Young - 254 
His deep experimental piety .... 254 

Was the first who really made poetry the handmEud to re- 
ligion ...... 256 

His religious sentiments .... 256 

His views of friendship, and lines upon it - 257 

Greatness and independence of his mind - - 260 

His skill in consoling the afflicted - - 261 

Occasional tranquillity and cheerfulness - - 262 

Jeu d'esprit ..... 263 

Powers of description .... - 266 

Remai'ks on his original productions - - 266 

Excellence of his epistolary style - • - 268 

Aversion to flattery and ostentation - - 269 
Severity of his sarcasms .... 270 



XVlll CONTENTS. 

.ige Page 

Abhorrence of cruelty - - - 270 

His patriotism - - - - - - 271 

His uncomplaining disposition - - - 273 
Tenderness of his conscience .... 274 

Remarks of an anonymous critic on his productions 275 

Lines to his memory .... 277 



THE LIFE 



WILLIAM COW PER, Esq. 



THE 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



CHAPTER I. 

His parentage — Loss of his mother — Poetic description of her 
character — First school — Cruelty he experienced there — First 
serious impressions — Is placed under the care of an eminent 
oculist — Entrance upon Westmitister School — Character while 
there — Removal thence — Entrance upon an attorney''s office — 
Want of employment there — Unfitness for his profession — 
Early melancholy impressions. 

William Cowper was born at Great Berkhamstead, in 
Hertfordshire, November 15, 1731. His father, Dr. John 
Cowper, chaplain to King George the Second, was the se- 
cond son of Spencer Cowper, who was Chief Justice of Che- 
shire, and afterwards a Judge in the Court of Common Pleas, 
and whose brother William, first Earl Cowper, was, at the 
same time, Lord High Chancellor of England. His mother 
was Anne, daughter of Roger Donne, Esq. of Ludham Hall, 
Norfolk, who had a common ancestry with the celebrated Dr. 
Donne, Dean of St. Paul's. 

In reference to this lady, it has been justly observed, by 
one of the poet's best biographers, " That the highest blood 
in the realm flowed in the veins of the modest and unas- 
suming Cowper ; his mother having descended through the 
families of Hippesley of Throughley, in Sussex, and Pellet, 
of Bolney, in the same county, from the several noble houses 
of West, KnoUys, Carey, Bullen, Howard, and Mowbray, 
and so, by four different lines, from Henry the Third, King 
of England." Though, as the same writer properly remarks, 
" distinctions of this nature can shed no additional lustre on 
the memory of Cowper, yet genius, however exalted, dis- 
1 



3 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

dains not, while it boasts not, the splendour of ancestry ; and 
royalty itself may be pleased, and perhaps benefited, by dis- 
covering its kindred to such piety, such purity, and such ta- 
lents as his." 

Very little is known of the habits and disposition of Cow- 
per's mother. From the following- epitaph, however, in- 
scribed on a monument, erected by her husband in the chan- 
cel of St. Peter's church, Great Berkhamstead, and composed 
by her niece, who afterwards became Lady Walsingham, 
she appears to have been a lady of the most amiable temper 
and agreeable manners : — 

Here lies, in early years bereft of life, 

The best of mothers, and the kindest wife. 

Who neither knew nor practised any ai"t, 

Secure in all she wished — her husband's heart. 

Her love to him still prevalent in death, 

Pray'd Heaven to bless him with her latest breath. 

Still was she studious never to offend, 

And glad of an occasion to commend ; 

With ease would pardon injuries received, 

Nor e'er was cheerful when another grieved. 

Despising- state, with her own lot content. 

Enjoyed the comforts of a life well spent ; 

Resigned when Heaven demanded back her breath, 

Her mind heroic 'midst the pangs of death. 

Whoe'er tliou art that dost this tomb draw near, 

O, stay awhile, and shed a friendly tear ; 

These lines, though weak, are as herself sincere. 

After giving birth to several children, this lady died in 
child-bed, in her thirty-seventh year ; leaving only two sons, 
John the younger, and William the elder, who is the subject 
of this memoir. Cowper was only six years old when he 
lost his mother; and how deeply he was affected by her ear- 
ly death, may be inferred from the following exquisitely ten- 
der lines, composed more than fifty j^ears afterwards, on the 
receipt of her portrait from a relation in Norfolk : — 

♦' My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, 
Sa)', wast tiiou conscious of the tears I shed? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss : 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss ! 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 
I saw the hearse that bore thee fai- away. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

And, turning' from my nursery-window, drew 

A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 

But was it such? It was — Where thou art gone 

Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

The parting sound shall pass my lips no more ! 

Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern. 

Oft gave me promise of a quick return. 

What ardently I wished, 1 long believed. 

And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 

By disappointment every day beguiled. 

Dupe of to-morrow, even from a child. 

Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 

Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 

I learned at last submission to my lot, 

But though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 

Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours 

AVhen playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 

The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 

I pricked them into paper with a pin, 

(And thou wast happier than myself the while. 

Would softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,) 

Could these few pleasant hours again appear. 

Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? 

I would not trust my heart, the dear delight 

Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might ; 

But no — what here we call our life is such, 

So little to be loved, and thou so much, 

Tiiat I should ill requite thee to constrain 

Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 

(The storm all weathered and the ocean crossed) 

Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, 

AVhere spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile. 

There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 

Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 

While airs impregnated with incense play 

Around her, fanning light her streamers gay: 

So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore 

Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar. 

And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 

Of life, long since, has anchored at thy side. 

But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest. 

Always from port withheld, always distressed — 

Me, howling winds drive devious, tempest tost; 

Sails I'ipt, seams opening wide, and compass lost. 



4 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

And day by day some current's thwarting force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
But, oh! the thought that thou art safe, and he! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me : 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
Fi'om loins entlironed and rulers of the earth. 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies!" 

Deprived thus early of his excellent and most affectionate 
parent, he was sent, at this tender age, to a large school at 
Market-street, Hertfordshire, under the care of Dr. Pitman. 
Here he had hardships of different kinds to conflict with, 
which he felt more sensibly, in consequence of the tender 
manner in which he had been treated at home. His chief 
sorrow, however, arose from the cruel treatment he met with 
from a boy in the same school, about fifteen years of age, 
who on all occasions persecuted him with the most unrelent- 
ing barbarity ; and who never seemed pleased except when 
he was tormenting him. Tliis savage treatment impressed 
such a dread upon Cowper's tender mind of this boy, that 
he was afraid to lift up his eyes upon him higher than his 
knees ; and he knew him better by his shoe-buckles than by 
any other part of his dress. 

It was at this school, and on one of these painful occasions, 
that the mind of Cowper, which was afterwards to become 
imbued with religious feelings of the highest order, received 
its first serious impressions — a circumstance which cannot 
fail to be interesting to every Christian reader, and the more 
so as detailed in his own words. 

" One day, as I was sitting alone on a bench in the school, 
melancholy, and almost ready to weep at the recollection of 
what I had already suffered, and expecting at the same time 
my tormentor every moment, these words of the Psalmist 
came into my mind — ' I will not be afraid of what man can 
do unto me.' I applied this to my own case, with a degree 
of trust and confidence in God, that would have been no dis- 
grace to a much more experienced Christian. Instantly I 
perceived in myself a briskness and a cheerfulness of spirit 
which I had never before experienced, and took several paces 
up and down the room with joyful alacrity. Happy had it 
been for me, if this early effort towards a dependance on the 
blessed God, had been frequently repeated. But, alas ! it 
was the first and the last, between infancy and manhood." 

From this school he was removed in his eighth year ; and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 5 

having at that time specks on both his eyes, which threaten- 
ed to cover them, his father, alarmed for the consequences, 
placed him under the care of an eminent female oculist in 
London ; in whose house he abode nearly two years. In 
this lady's family, religion was neither known nor practised; 
the slightest appearance of it, in any shape, was carefully 
concealed, even its outward forms were entirely unobserved. 
In a situation like this, it was not to be expected that young 
Cowper would long retain those serious impressions he had 
experienced ; nor is it surprising, that before his removal 
thence he should have lost them entirely. 

In his ninth year, he was sent to Westminster School, 
then under the care of Dr. Nicholls ; who, though an inge- 
nious and learned man, was nevertheless a negligent tutor ; 
and one that encouraged his pupils in habits of indolence, not 
a little injurious to their future welfare. Here he remained 
seven years, and had frequent reason to complain of the same 
unkind treatment from some of his school-fellows, which he 
had before experienced. His timid, meek, and inoffensive 
spirit totally unfitted him for the hardships of a public school ; 
and in all probability, the treatment he there received, pro- 
duced in him an insuperable aversion to this method of in- 
struction. We know but little of the actual progress he 
made while under the care of Dr. Nicholls ; his subsequent 
eminence, however, as a scholar, proves that he must have 
been an attentive pupil, and must have made, at this period, 
a highly creditable proficiency in his studies. 

While at this school, he was roused a second time to se- 
rious consideration. Crossing a churchyard late one even- 
ing, he saw a glimmering light in rather a remote part of it, 
which so excited his curiosity, as to induce him to approach 
it. Just as he arrived at the spot, a grave-digger, who was 
at work by the light of his lanthorn, threw up a skull-bone, 
which struck him on the leg. This little incident alarmed 
his conscience, and drew from him many painful reflections. 
The impression, however, was only temporary, and in a short 
time the event was entirely forgotten. 

On another occasion, not long afterwards, he again at this 
early age, became the subject of religious impressions. It 
was the laudable practice of Dr. Nicholls to take great pains 
to prepare his pupils for confirmation. The Doctor acquitted 
himself of this duty like one who had a deep sense of its 
importance, and young Cowper was struck by his manner, 
and much affected by his exhortations. He now, for the 
first time in his life, attempted prayer in secret, but beinjr 
1* 



6 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

little accustomed to that exercise of the heart, and having 
very childish notions of religion, he found it a difficult and 
painful task, and was even then alarmed at his own insensi- 
bility. These impressions, however, like those made upon 
his mind before, soon wore off, and he relapsed into a total 
forgetfulness of God, with the usual disadvantage of being 
more hardened, for having been softened to no purpose. This 
was evidently the case with him, for on being afterwards 
seized with the small-pox, though he was in the most immi- 
nent danger, yet neither in the course of the disease, nor 
during his recovery from it, had he any sentiments of con- 
trition, or any thoughts of God or eternity. He, however, 
derived one advantage from it — it removed, to a great degree, 
if it did not entirely cure, the disease in his eyes, proving, 
as he afterwards observed in a letter to Mr. Hayley, ' a bet- 
ter oculist than the lady who had him under her care.' 

Such was the character of young CoWper, in his eighteenth 
year, when he left Westminster school. He had made a res- 
pectable proficiency in all his studies ; but notwithstanding 
his previous serious impressions, he seems not to have had 
any more knowledge of the nature of religion, nor even to 
have discovered any more concern about it, than many other 
individuals have been known to feel, at an early age, who 
have never afterwards given it any attention. After spend- 
ing six months at home, he was articled to a solicitor, with 
whom he was engaged to remain three years. In this gen- 
tleman's family, he neither saw nor heard any thing that 
could remind him of a single Christian duty ; and here he 
might have lived utterly ignorant of the God that made him, 
had he not been providentially situated near his uncle's, in 
Southampton-row. At this favourite retreat, he was permit- 
ted to spend all his leisure time, and so seldom was he em- 
ployed, that this was by far the greater part of it. With his 
uncle's family he passed nearly all his Sundays, and with 
some part of it he regularly attended public worship, but for 
which, probably, he would otherwise, owing to the force of 
evil example, have entirely neglected. 

The choice of a profession for a youth is ever of para- 
mount importance ; if injudiciously made, it not unfrequent- 
ly lays the foundation for much future disappointment and 
sorrow. It would certainly have been difficult, and perhaps 
impossible, to have selected one more unsuitable to the mind 
of Cowper than that of the law. As Mr. Hayley justly ob- 
serves, " the law is a kind of soldiership, and, like the pro- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 7 

fession of arms, it may be said to require for the constitution 
of its heroes, 

** A frame of adamant, a soul of fire." 

" The soul of Cowper had, indeed, its fire, but fire so re- 
fined and ethereal, that it could not be expected to shine in 
the gross atmosphere of wordly contention." Reserved to 
an unusual and extraordinary degree, he was ill-qualified to 
contend with the activity unavoidably connected with this 
profession. Though he possessed the strongest powers of 
mind, and a richly-cultivated understanding, yet were they 
combined with such extreme sensibility, as totally disqua- 
lified him for the bustle of a court. An excessive tenderness, 
associated with a degree of shyness, not easily to be accounted 
for, utterly unfitted him for a profession that would often have 
placed him before the public, and brought him into contact 
with individuals not remarkable for such qualities. His ex- 
treme modesty, however, while it precluded the possibility 
of his being successful in this profession, endeared him inex- 
pressibly to all who had the felicity to enjoy his society. 
Never was there a mind more admirably formed for commu- 
nicating to others, in private life, the richest sources of enjoy- 
ment ; and yet, such were the peculiarities of his nature, that 
often, while he delighted and interested all around him, he 
was himself extremely unhappy. The following lines, com- 
posed by him about this time, are not less valuable, for the 
developementthey give of the state of his mind at that period, 
than they are remarkable for their exquisite tenderness and 
poetic beauty : — 

*' Doomed as I am in solitude to waste 
The present moments, and regret the past; 
Deprived of every joy I valued most, 
My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost; 
Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien. 
The dull effect of humour or of spleen. 
Still, still I mourn, with each returning day. 
Him* snatched by fate in early youth away; 
And her through tedious years of doubt and pain, 
Fix'd in her choice, and faithful — but in vain! 
O, prone to pity, generous, and sincere. 
Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear; 

* Sir William Russell, Bart., a favourite friend of the young 
poet. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows, 
Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes; 
See me, — ere yet my destined course half done. 
Cast forth a wanderer on the world unknown! 
See me neglected on the world's rude coast. 
Each dear companion of my voyage lost! 
Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow. 
And ready tears wait only leave to flow! 
"Why all tliat soothes a heart from anguish free, 
All that delights the happy, palls with me!" 



( 9 ) 



CHAPTER II. 



Entrance into the Temple — Employment there — Depression of 
his mind — Religious impressions — Visit to Southampton — 
Sudden removal of sorrow — Death of his father — Appointment 
to the office of reading clerk in the House of Lords — Dread of 
appearing in public — Cmuequent abandonment of the situa- 
tion — Is proposed as cleric of the Journals — Feelings on the oc- 
casion — V-isit to Margate — Return to London — Preparation 
for entering upon his office — Distressing sensations on the oc- 
casion — Is compelled to relinquish it for ever — Serious attack 
of depression — Visit of his brother. 

At the age of 21, in 1752, Cowper left the solicitor's house, 
and took possession of a complete set of chambers in the In- 
ner Temple. Here he remained nearly twelve years. And 
as this may justly be considered the most valuable part of 
life, it must ever be regretted that he suffered it to pass away 
so unprofitably. During this important and lengthened pe- 
riod he scarcely did anything more than compose a few es- 
says and poems, either to gratify, or to assist some literary 
friend. Prompted by benevolent motives, he furnished seve- 
ral pieces for a work, entitled "The Connoisseur," edited by 
Robert Lloyd, Esq., to whom he was sincerely and warmly 
attached. 

The following extract from a most playful poetic epistle, 
addressed to that gentleman, will be read with interest, as it 
shows that he began at that time to feel symptoms of the de- 
pressive malady, which afterwards became to him a source 
of so much misery. 

** 'Tis not that I design to rob 
Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, 
For thou art born sole heir, and single. 
Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle; 
Nor that I mean, while thus I knit 
My thread-bare sentiments together. 
To show my genius, or my wit. 
When God and you know I have neither; 



10 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Or such as might be better shown, 

By letting poetry alone. 

'Tis not with either of these views 

That I presume to address the muse; 

But to divert a fierce banditti 

(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty;) 

That with a black infernal train, 

Make cruel inroads on my brain, 

And daily threatens to drive thence 

My little gari'ison of sense; 

The fierce banditti which I mean. 

Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen." 

While he remained in the Temple he cultivated the friend- 
ship of the most distinguished writers of the day ; and took 
a lively interest in their publications, as they appeared. In- 
stead, however, of applying his richly furnished mind to the 
composition of some original work, for which, the pieces he 
incidentally wrote, proved him fully competent, his timid spi- 
rit contented itself with occasional displays of its rich and 
varied capabilities. Translation from ancient and modern 
poets was one of his most favourite amusements. So far, 
however, was he from deriving any benefit from these compo- 
sitions, most of which were masterly productions, that he in- 
variably distributed them gratuitousl)'^ among his friends, as 
they might happen to request them. In this way he assist- 
ed his amiable friend and scholar, Mr. Duncombe ; for we 
find in Buncombe's Horace, published by him in 1759, that 
two of the satires were translated by Cowper. 

When Cowper entered the Temple he paid little or no at- 
tention to religion ; all those serious impressions which he 
had once experienced were gone ; and he was left, at that 
dangerous and critical season of life, surrounded by innume- 
rable most powerful temptations, without any other principles 
for his guide, than the corrupt affections of our common na- 
ture. It pleased God, however, at the very outset, to prevent 
him from pursuing that rash and ruinous career of wicked- 
ness, into which many plunge with heedless and awful in- 
sensibility. The feelings of his peculiarly sensitive mind on 
this occasion he thus describes. 

"Not long after my settlement in the Temple, I was 
struck with such a dejection of spirits, as none but those 
who have felt the same can have the least conception of. 
Day and night I was upon the rack, lying down in horror, 
and rising up in despair. I presently lost all relish for those 
studies to which I had before been closely attached ; the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 11 

classics had no longer any charms for me ; I had need of 
something more salutary than amusement, but I had no one 
to direct me where to find it." 

" At length I met with Herbert's poems ; and, gothic and 
uncouth as they are, I yet found in them a strain of piety 
which I could not but admire. This was the only author 
I had any delight in reading. I pored over him all day 
long ; and though I found not in his work what I might 
have found — a cure for my malady, yet my mind never 
seemed so much alleviated as while I was reading it. At 
length I was advised, by a very near and dear relative, to 
lay it aside, for he thought such an author more likely to 
nourish my disorder than to remove it." 

" In this state of mind I continued near a twelvemonth ; 
when, having experienced the inefficacy of all human means, 
I at length betook myself to God in prayer. Such is the 
rank our Redeemer holds in our esteem, that we never re- 
sort to him but in the last instance, when all creatures have 
failed to succour us! My hard heart was at length soften- 
ed, and my stubborn knees brought to bow. I composed a 
set of prayers, and made frequent use of them. Weak as my 
faith was, the Almighty, who will not break the bruised reed, 
nor quench the smoking flax, was graciously pleased to lis- 
ten to my cry, instead of frowning me away in anger." 

" A change of scene was recommended to me ; and I em- 
braced an opportunity of going with some friends to South- 
ampton, where I spent several months. Soon after our arrival, 
we walked to a place called Freeman tie, about a mile from 
the town ; the morning was clear and calm ; the sun shone 
brightly upon the sea, and the country on the border of it 
was the most beautiful I had ever seen. We sat down upon 
an eminence, at the end of that arm of the sea which runs 
between Southampton and the New Forrest. Here it was, 
that on a sudden, as if another sun had been created that in- 
stant in the heavens on purpose to dispel sorrow and vexa- 
tion of spirit, I felt the weight of all my misery taken off; 
my heart became light and joyful in a moment ; I could have 
wept with transport had I been alone. I must needs believe 
that nothing less than the Almighty fiat could have filled me 
with such inexpressible delight ; not by a gradual dawning 
of peace, but, as it were, with a flash of his life-giving coun- 
tenance. I felt a glow of gratitude to the Father of mercies 
for this unexpected blessing, and ascribed it, at first, to his 
gracious acceptance of my prayers ; but Satan and my own 
wicked heart quickly persuaded me that I was indebted for 



13 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

my deliverance to nothing but a change of scene, and the 
amusing varieties of the place. By this means, he turned 
the blessing into a poison ; teaching me to conclude, that 
nothing but a continued circle of diversion, and indulgence 
of appetite, could secure me from a relapse. Acting upon 
this false and pernicious principle, as soon as I returned to 
London, I burnt my prayers, and away went all my thoughts 
of devotion, and of dependence upon God my Saviour. 
Surely, it was of his mercy that I was not consumed. Glory 
be to his grace." 

" I obtained, at length, so complete a victory over my con- 
science, that all remonstrances from that quarter were in 
vain, and in a manner silenced, though sometimes, indeed, 
a question would arise in my mind, whether it were safe to 
proceed any farther in a course so plainly and utterly con- 
demned in the Scriptures. I saw clearly, that if the gospel 
were true, such a conduct must inevitably end in my destruc- 
tion ; but I saw not by what means I could change my Ethio- 
pian complexion, or overcome such an inveterate habit of re- 
belling against God." 

" The next thing that occurred to me, at such a time, was 
a doubt whether the gospel were true or false. To this suc- 
ceeded many an anxious wish for the decision of this im- 
portant question ; for I foolishly thought that obedience 
would follow, were I but convinced that it was worth while 
to attend to it. Having no reason to expect a miracle, and 
not hoping to be satisfied with any thing less, I acquiesced, 
at length, in favour of that impious conclusion, that the only 
course I could take to secure my present peace, was to wink 
hard against the prospects of future misery, and to resolve to 
banish all thoughts of a subject upon which I thought to so 
little purpose. Nevertheless, when I was in the company of 
deists, and heard the gospel blasphemed, I never failed to 
assert the truth of it with much vehemence of disputation, 
for which I was the better qualified, having been always an • 
industrious and diligent inquirer into the evidences by which 
it is externally supported. I think I once went so far into 
a controversy of this kind as to assert, that I would gladly 
submit to have my right hand cut oif, so that I might but be 
enabled to live according to the gospel. Thus have I been 
employed in vindicating the truth of Scripture, while in the 
very act of rebelling against its dictates. Lamentable incon- 
sistency of a convinced judgment with an unsanctified heart! 
—an inconsistency, indeed, evident to others as well as to 
myself; inasmuch as a deistical companion of mine, with 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM CQWPER. 13 

whom I was disputing upon the subject, cut short the matter 
by alleging-, that if what I said were true, I was certainly 
condemned, by my own showing." 

In 1756, Cowper sustained a heavy domestic loss, in the 
death of his excellent father, towards whom he had always 
felt the strongest parental regard. Such, however, was the 
depressed state of his mind at this season, that he was much 
less affected by the solemn event, than he would probably 
have been had it occurred at any earlier or later period of his 
life. Perceiving that he should inherit but little fortune from 
his father, he now found it necessary to adopt some plan to 
augment his income. It became every day more apparent to 
his friends, as well as to himself, that his extreme diffidence 
precluded the possibility of his being successful in his pro- 
fession. After much anxiety of mind on this subject, he at 
length mentioned it to a friend, who had two situations at 
his disposal, the Reading Clerk, and Clerk of the Journals in 
the House of Lords — situations, either of which Cowper then 
thought would suit him, and one of which he expressed a 
desire to obtain, should a vacancy occur. Quite unexpect- 
edly to him, as well as to his friend, both these places, in a 
short time afterwards, became vacant ; and as the Reading 
Clerk's was much the more valuable of the two, his friend 
generously offered it to him, which offer he gladly and grate- 
fully accepted,, and he was accordingly appointed to it in his 
thirty-first year. 

All his friends were delighted with this providential open- 
ing : he himself, at first, looked forward to it with pleasure, 
intending, as soon as he was settled, to unite himself with 
an amiable and accomplished young lady, one of his cousins, 
for whom he had long cherished a tender attachment. These 
fond hopes, however, were never realized. The situation re- 
quired him to appear at the bar of the House of Peers ; and 
the apprehension of this public exhibition quite overwhelmed 
his meek and gentle spirit. So acute were his distressing 
apprehensions, that, notwithstanding the previous efforts he 
made to qualify himself for the office, long before the day 
arrived that he was to enter upon it, such was the embar- 
rassed and melancholy state of his mind, that he was com- 
pelled to relinquish it entirely. His harassed and dejected 
feelings on this occasion he thus affectingly describes : — 

" All the considerations by which I endeavoured to com- 
pose my mind to its former tranquillity, did but torment me 
the more, proving miserable comforters, and counsellors ol 
no value. I returned to my chambers, thoughtful and un- 
2 • 



14 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

happy; my countenance fell ; and my friend was astonished, 
instead of that additional cheerfulness which he might have 
so reasonably expected, to find an air of deep melancholy in 
all I said or did. Having been harassed in this manner, by 
day and night, for the space of a week, perplexed between 
the apparent folly of casting away the only visible chance I 
had of being well provided for, and the impossibility of re- 
taining it, I determined at length to write a letter to my 
friend, though he lodged, in a manner, at the next door, and 
we generally spent the day together. I did so, and begged 
him to accept my resignation of the Reading Clerk's place, 
and to appoint me to the other situation. I was well aware 
of the disproportion between the value of the appointments, 
but my peace was gone: pecuniary advantages were. not 
equivalent to what I had lost ; and I flattered myself that the 
Clerkship of the Journals would fall, fairly and easily, within 
the scope of my abilities. Like a man in a fever, I thought 
a change of posture would relieve my pain, and, as the event 
will show, was equally disappointed. My friend, at length, 
after considerable reluctance, accepted of my resignation, 
and appointed me to the least profitable office. The matter 
being thus settled, something like a calm took place in my 
mind: I was, indeed, not a little concerned about my cha- 
racter, being aware that it must needs suffer by the strange 
appearance of my proceeding. This, however, being but a 
small part of the anxiety I had laboured under, was hardly 
felt when the rest was taken off. I thought my path towards 
an easy maintenance was now plain and open, and, for a day 
or two, was tolerably cheerful : but behold, the storm was 
gathering all the while, and the fury of it was not the less 
violent from this gleam of sunshine." 

" A strong opposition to my friend's right of nomination 
began to show itself. A powerful party was formed among 
the lords to thwart it, and it appeared plain, that if we sr.c- 
ceeded at last, it could only be by fighting our ground by 
inches. Every advantage, I was told, would be sought for, 
and eagerly seized, to disconcert us. I was led to expect an 
examination at the bar of the house, touching my sufficiency 
for the post I had taken. Being necessarily ignorant of the 
nature of that business, it became expedient that I should 
visit the office daily, in order to qualify myself for the 
s);rictest scrutiny. All the horror of my fears and perplexities 
now returned ; a thunderbolt would have been as welcome to 
me as this intelligence. I knew that, upon such terms, the 
Clerkship of the Journals was no place for me. To require 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 15 

my attendance at the bar of the House, that I might there 
publicly entitle myself to the office, was, in effect, to exclude 
me from it. In the mean time, the interest of my friend, the 
causes of his choice, and my own reputation and circum- 
stances, all urged me forward, and pressed me to undertake 
that which I saw to be impracticable. They whose spirits 
are formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of them- 
selves, on any occasion, is mortal poison, may have some 
idea of the horror of my situation — others can have none. 
My continual misery at length brought on a nervous fever : 
quiet forsook me by day, and peace by night ; even a finger 
raised against me seemed more than I could bear." 

" In this posture of mind, I attended regularly at the office, 
where, instead of a soul upon the rack, the most active spi- 
rits were essential to my purpose. I expected no assistance 
from any one there, all the inferior clerks being under the 
influence of my opponents ; accordingly, I received none. 
The Journal books were, indeed, thrown open to me, a thing 
which could not be refused, and from which, perhaps, a man 
in health, with a head turned to business, might have gained 
all the information wanted. But it was not so with me. I 
read without perception, and was so distressed, that had 
every clerk in the office been my friend, it would have avail- 
ed me little, for I was not in a condition to receive instruc- 
tion, much less to elicit it from manuscripts, without direc- 
tion." 

The following extract from a letter to his amiable cousin, 
Lady Hesketh, written 9th August, 1763, through which 
runs that happy mixture, of what may not perhaps impro- 
perly be termed, playful seriousness, which distinguishes 
almost the whole of his epistolary productions, and imparts 
to them a charm superior to that of almost any other writer, 
will illustrate the state of his mind at that period. " Having 
promised to write to you, I make haste to be as good as my 
word. I have a pleasure in writing to you at any time, but 
especially at the present, when my days are spent in reading 
the Journals, and my nights in dreaming of them, an employ- 
ment not very agreeable to a head that has long been habit- 
uated to the luxury of choosing its subject, and has been as 
little employed upon business, as if it had grown upon the 
shoulders of a much wealthier gentleman. But the numscull 
pays for it now, and will not presently forget the discipline 
it has undergone lately. If I succeed in this doubtful piece 
of promotion, I shall have at least the satisfaction to reflect 
upon, that the volumes I write will be treasured up with the 



16 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

utmost care for ages, and will last as long as the English 
constitution, a duration which ought to satisfy the vanity of 
any author. Oh my good cousin ! If I avbs to open my heart 
to you, I could show you strange sights ; nothing, I flatter 
myself, that would shock you, but a good deal that would 
make you wonder. I am of a very singular temper, and very 
unlike all the men that I have ever conversed with. Cer- 
tainly I am not an absolute fool ; but I have more weakness 
than the greatest of all fools I can recollect at present. In 
short, if I was as fit for the next world as I am unfit for this 
— and God forbid that I should speak it in vanity — I would 
not change conditions with any saint in Christendom. Ever 
since I was horn, I have been good at disappointing the most 
natural expectations. Many years ago, cousin, there was a 
possibility that I might prove a very different thing from 
what I am at present. My character is now fixed, and rivet- 
ed fast upon me ; and, between friends, is not a very splen-- 
did one, or likely to be guilty of much fascination." 

Many months was Cowper thus employed, constant in the 
use of means to qualify himself for the office, yet despairing 
as to the issue. At length he says, 

"The vacation being pretty far advanced, I repaired to 
Margate. There, by the help of cheerful company, a new 
scene, and the intermission of my painful employment, I pre- 
sently began to recover my spirits ; though even here, for 
some time after my arrival, (notwithstanding, perhaps, the 
preceding day had been spent agreeably, and without any 
disturbing recollection of my circumstances,) my first reflec- 
tions, when I awoke in the morning, were horrible and full 
of wretchedness. I looked forward to the approaching win- 
ter, and regretted the flight of every moment which brought 
it nearer, like a man borne away, by a rapid torrent, into a 
stormy sea, whence he sees no possibility of returning, and 
where he knows he cannot subsist. By degrees, I acquired 
such a facility in turning away my thoughts from the ensu- 
ing crisis, that, for weeks together, I hardly adverted to it at 
all : but the stress of the tempest was yet to come, and was 
not to be avoided by any resolution of mine to look another 
way." 

" How wonderful are the works of the Lordy and his ways 
past finding out ! Thus was he preparing me for an event 
which I least of all expected, even the reception of his bless- 
ed gospel, working by means which, in all human contem- 
plation, must needs seem directly opposite to that purpose, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 17 

but which, in his wise and gracious disposal, have, I trust, 
effectually accomplished it." 

In October, 1763, Cowper was again required to attend the 
office, and prepare for the final push. This recalled all his 
fears, and produced a renewal' of all his former misery. On 
revisiting the scene of his previous ineffectual labours, he 
felt himself pressed by difficulties on either side, with no- 
thing before him but prospects of gloom and despair. He saw 
that he must either keep possession of the situation to the 
last extremity, and thus expose himself to the risk of public 
rejection for his insufficiency, or relinquish it at once, and 
thus run the hazard of ruining his benefactor's right of ap- 
pointment, and losing the only chance he seemed to have of 
procuring for himself a comfortable competence for life, and 
of being united to the individual to whom he was most ten- 
derly and affectionately attached. 

His terrors on this occasion had become so overwhelming, 
as to induce that lamented aberration of mind under which he 
is generally known to have suffered. The dreadful appre- 
hensions which for so long a time had haunted him day and 
night, leaving him not a moment's interval of peace, had, at. 
length, wound him up to the highest pitch of mental agony. 
The anguish of his lacerated spirit was inconceivable. The 
idea of appearing in public was, to his gentle but amiable 
mind, even more bitter than death. To his disordered per- 
ception there appeared no possibility for him to escape from 
the horrors of his situation, but by an escape from life itself. 
Death, which he had always shuddered at before, he began 
ardently to wish for now. He could see nothing before him 
but difficulties perfectly insurmountable. The supposed 
ruined state of his pecuniary circumstances — the imagined 
contempt of his relations and acquaintance — and the appre- 
hended prejudice he should do his patron, urged the fatal ex- 
pedient upon his shattered intellect, which he now meditated 
with inexpressible energy. 

At this important crisis, when it pleased Godj who giveth 
not to man an account of his proceedings, to permit a cloud, 
darker than midnight, to gather round the mind of the poet, 
so that he saw no possible way of escape but the one above 
alluded to, and when he peculiarly needed the counsel of some 
judicious and kind friend, it so happended that he fell suc- 
cessively into the company of two most unhappy sophists, 
who both advanced claims to the right of self-destruction, 
and whose fallacious arguments won him over to their perni- 
cious view's. This was, unhappily, rendered more easy than 
2* 



18 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

it Otherwise would have been, by his recollection of an im- 
pious book which he had read when very young, the argu- 
ments of which, though they then appeared to him, in their 
true light, as utterly inconclusive and perfectly contemptible, 
now came afresh to his disordered mind, and seemed irrefu- 
table ; the situation in which he was now placed, inducing 
him to catch eagerly at anything that would justify the 
means of relief to which he wished to resort. How careful 
ought all to be, who are entrusted with the education of 
youth, that no pernicious books may fall into their hands! 
No evil consequences may, perhaps, arise from it at the time, 
but who can calculate what may be the future result ? 

The disordered state of Cowper's mind, at this period," will 
be seen by the following anecdote. Taking up a newspaper 
for the day, his eye caught a satirical letter which it happen- 
ed to contain, and though it had no relation whatevfer to his 
case, he doubted not but the writer was fully acquainted with 
his purpose, and in fact, intended to hasten its execution. 
Wrought up to a degree of anguish almost unbearable, he 
now experienced a convulsive agitation that in 'a manner de- 
prived him of all his powers. Hurried on by the deplorable 
inducements above related, and perceiving no possibility of 
escaping from his misery by any other- means, all around him 
wearing only an aspect of gloom and despair, it will be no 
wonder to the reader, that before the tremendous day ap- 
proached, the day on which his tender spirit was to have en- 
countered an examination before the House of Lords, he had 
made several attempts at the escape above alluded to. Most 
happily, indeed, and most mercifully, for himself and for 
others, they were only attempts ; for it was the will of a gra- 
cious Providence, not only to preserve his life for the exer- 
cise of a sound and vigorous mind, but to make that mind an 
instrument of incalculable benefit to his country, and, we may 
almost say, to the world, by advancing and promoting the 
best interests of mankind, morality, and religion. 

The depths of affliction and sorrow which the amiable suf- 
ferer now endured were such, that he might truly say with 
the Psalmist, " All thy waves and thy billows are gone over 
me, I am troubled. I am bowed down greatly, my heart is 
pained within me, my sorrow is continually before me ; fear- 
fulness and trembling are come upon me. I sink in deep 
mire where is no standing, I am come into deep waters where 
the floods overflow me." When at length the long-dreaded 
day arrived, the approach of which he had feared more than 
he feared death itself, such were the melancholy results of 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 19 

his. distress, that all his friends immediately acquiesced in 
the propriety of his relinquishing the situation for ever. Thus 
ended his connexion with the House of Lords ; unhappily, 
however, his sufferings did not end here. Despair still inflict- 
ed on him its deadliest sting, and he saw not how it could be 
extracted ; Grief poured its full tide of anguish into his heart, 
and he could perceive nothing before him but one intermina- 
ble prospect of misery. 

"O Providence! mysterious are thy ways ! • 
Inflexible thine evei'lasting' plans ! 
The finite power of man can ne'er resist 
The unseen hand winch guides, protects, preserves, 
Nor penetrates the inscrutable design 
Of Him, whose council is his sovereign will. 
Prosperity's bi-ight sun withdraws his beams, 
Thick clouds and tempests gather round the sky. 
The winds of fierce temptations, and the waves 
Of trials fell, assault the feeble bark. 
And drive it headlong- 'midst the cragged rocks. 
We look with wonder on, but seek in vain 
The deep designs of Heaven herein to scan; 
The sacred page itself reveals not this. 
Yet who that knows there is a Power above 
Would not • assert eternal Providence, 
And justify the works of God to man ?' " 

At this period of the poet's history, it appears desirable to 
remark, in confutation of those who attribute, or at least en- 
deavour to attribute hjs malady to his religion, tliat, viewed 
either as an originating cause, or in any other light, it can 
never be proved to have had any connection with it. It will 
not be denied, that those sacred truths, which, in all cases 
where they are properly received, prove an unfailing source 
of the most salutary contemplation to the underanged mind, 
were in his case, through the distorting medium of his mala- 
dy, converted into a vehicle of intellectual poison. It is, 
however, as Dr. Johnson well observes, " a most erroneous 
and unhappy idea to suppose, tliat those views of Christianity 
which Cowper adopted, and of which, when enjoying the in- 
tervals of reason, after he was brought to the knowledge of 
them, he was so bright an ornament, had in any degree con- 
tributed to excite the malady with which he was afflicted. It 
is capable of the clearest demonstration that nothing was 
further from the truth. On the contrary, all those allevia- 
tions of sorrow, those delightful anticipations of heavenly 



20 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

rest, those healing consolations to a wounded spirit, of which 
he was permitted to taste, at the period when interrupted 
reason resumed its sway, were unequivocally to be ascribed 
to the operation of those very principles and views of reli- 
gion, which, in the instance before us have been charged with 
producing so opposite an effect. The primary aberration of 
his mental faculties were wholly to be attributed to other 
causes," as indeed will satisfactorily appear, by the follow- 
ing affecting description he has given of himself at this 
period. 

" To this moment I had felt no concern of a spiritual kind: 
ignorant of original sin ; insensible of the guilt of actual trans- 
gression, I understood neither the law nor the gospel — the 
condemning nature of the one, nor the restoring mercies of 
the other. I was as much unacquainted with Christ in all 
his saving offices, as if his name had never reached me. Now, 
therefore, a new scene opened upon me." 

"My sins were set in array against me, and I began to see 
and feel that I had lived without God in the world. One mo- 
ment I thought myself shut out from mercy by one chapter, and 
the n6xt by another. The sword of the Spirit seemed to 
guard the tree of life against my touch, and to flame against 
me in every avenue by which. I attempted to approach it. I 
particularly remember, that the parable of the barren fig-tree 
was to me an inconceivabh; source of anguish. I applied it 
to my case, with a strong persuasion that it was a curse pro- 
nounced on me by the Saviour." 

" In every volume I opened I found something that struck 
me to the heart. I remember taking up one ; and the first sen- 
tence I saw condemned me. Every thing seemed to preach 
to me, not the gospel of mercy, but the curse of the law. In 
a word, I saw myself a sinner altogether; but I saw not yet a 
glimpse of the mercy of God in Christ Jesus the Lord." 

Cowper now wrote to his brother to inform him of the af- 
flicting circumstances in which he was placed. His brother 
immediately paid him a visit, and employed every means in 
his power to alleviate his distress. All his efforts, however, 
proved unavailing ; he found him almost overwhelmed with 
despair, pertinaciously maintaining, in spite of all remon- 
strances to the contrary, that he had been guilty of the un- 
pardonable sin, in not properly improving the mercy of God 
towards him at Southampton. No favourable construction 
put upon his conduct, in that instance by his brother, nor any 
argument he employed, afforded him a moment's alleviation 
of his distress. He rashly concluded that he had no lonfrei" 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 21 

any interest in the atonement, or in the gifts of the Spirit, 
and that nothing was left for him but the dismal prospect of 
eternally enduring the wrath of God. His brother pierced to 
the heart at the sight of his misery, used every means to 
comfort him, but all to no purpose, so deeply seated was his 
depression, that it rendered utterly useless all the soothing 
reflections that were suggested. 

At this trying period Cowper remembered his friend and 
relative, the Rev, Martin Madan ; and, though he had always 
considered him an enthusiast, he was now convinced that, if 
there was any balm in Gilead for him, Mr. Madan was the 
only person who could administer it. His friend lost no time 
in paying him a visit ; and perceiving the state of his mind, he 
began immediately to declare unto him the gospel of Christ. 
■ He spoke of original sin, of the corruption of every man born 
into the world ; of the efficacy of the atonement made by Jesus 
Christ ; of the Redeemer's compassion for lost sinners, and 
of the full salvation provided for them in the gospel. He 
then adverted to the Saviour's intercession; described him as 
a compassionate Redeemer, who felt deeply interested in the 
welfare of every true penitent, who could sympathize with 
those who were in distress, and who was able to save unto 
the uttermost all that come unto God by him. To this im- 
portant information Cowper listened with the greatest atten- 
tion ; hope seemed to dawn upon his disconsolate mind ; his 
heart burned within him while he listened to the word of life ; 
his soul was pierced with a sense of his great ingratitude to 
so merciful a Saviour^ tears of contrition burst from his eyes ; 
he saw clearly that this was the remedy his case required ; 
and felt fully persuaded that this was indeed the gospel of 
salvation. He, however, wanted that faith without which 
he could not recover its blessings. He saw the suitability of 
this gospel to his circumstances, but saw not yet how one, 
so vile as he conceived himself to be, could hope to partake 
of its benefits. 

Mr. Madan urged the necessity of a lively faith in the Re- 
deemer, not as an assent of the understanding only, but as 
the cordial belief of the heart unto righteousness ; assured him, 
that though faith was the gift of God, yet was it a gift that 
our heavenly Father was most willing to bestow, not on one 
only, but on all that sought it by earnest and persevering 
prayer. Cowper deeply deplored the want of this faith, and 
could only reply to his friend's remarks, in a brief but very 
sincere petition, " Most earnestly do I wish it would please 
God to bestow it on me." 



22 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

His brother, perceiving he had received some benefit from 
this interview, in his desire to relieve the poet's depressed 
mind, wisely overlooked the difference of sentiments on the 
great subjects of religion, which then existed between him- 
self and Mr. Madan, and discovered the greatest anxiety, that 
he should embrace the earliest opportunity to converse with 
him again. He now urged Cowper to visit Mr. Madan at 
his own house, and offered to accompany him thither. Af- 
ter much entreaty Gowper consented; and though the con- 
versation was not then the means of affording him any per- 
manent relief, it was not without its use. He was easier, 
but not easy; the wounded spirit within him was less in pain, 
but by no means healed. A long train of still greater terrors 
than any he had yet endured was at hand ; and when he 
awoke the next morning, after a few hours' sleep, he seemed 
to feel a stronger alienation from God than ever. He was 
now again the subject of the deepest mental anguish ; the 
sorrows of death seemed to encompass, and the pains of hell 
to get hold of him; his ears rang with the sound of the tor- 
ments that seemed to await him ; his terrified imagination 
presented to him many horrible visions, and led him to con- 
ceive thathe heard many horrible sounds ; his heart seemed 
at every pulse to beat its last; his conscience scared him; 
the avenger of blood seemed to pursue him ; and he saw no 
city of refuge into which he could flee ; every moment he ex- 
pected the earth would open, and swallow him up. 

He was now suddenly attacked with that nervous affection, 
of which the peculiar form of his mind seemed to have made 
him susceptible, which, on several subsequent occasions dark- 
ened his brightest prospects, and which, ultimately over- 
whelmed his meek and gentle spirit, and caused him to end 
his days in circumstances the most gloomy and sorrowful. 
So violent was the attack on this occasion, that his friends 
instantly perceived the change, and consulted on the best 
manner to dispose of him. Dr. Cotton then kept an esta- 
blishment at St. Alban's for the reception of such patients. 
His skill as a physician, his well-known humanity and sweet- 
ness of temper, and the acquaintance that had subsisted be- 
tween him and the afflicted patient, slight as it was, deter- 
mined them to place him under the doctor's care. No de- 
termination could have been more wisely taken ; and subse- 
quent events proved it to have been under His superintend- 
ence, who orders all things according to the councils of his 
own will, and who, with the tenderest solicitude, watches 
over his people ; managing those events which to us appear 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 23 

contingent, on principles of unerring wisdom ; and overruling 
them for the accomplishment of his gracious and benevolent 
intentinnfi. 



' An anxious world may sigh in vain for what 
Kmd Heaven decrees in g-oodness to withhold; 
But the momentous volume of his mind, 
When seen in yonder world, shall be approved. 
And all its plans pronounced unerring love." 



( 24 ) 



CHAPTER III. 



His removal to St. Mhans — Painful state of his mind there- 
Receives a visit from his brother — Good effects of it — His reco- 
very — How it was effected — His subsequent happiness — Pleas- 
ing conversation with Dr. Cotton — The delightful manner in 
which he now passed his time — Description of his experience 
—~His gratitude to God — Employs his brother to look out for 
him a new residence — Leaves St. Albans — Feelings on the oc- 
casion. 

On the 7th December, 1763, he was removed to St. Al- 
bans, and placed under the care of Dr. Cotton. And, not- 
withstanding the skilful and judicious treatment pursued to 
effect his restoratron, he remained in the ' same g\ oomy and 
desponding state for five months. Every means that ingenui- 
ty could devise, and that benevolence and tenderness could 
prompt, were resorted to for this protracted period in vain. 
To describe in lengthened detail the state of his mind during 
this long interval, would justly be deemed injudicious. As 
Mr. Hayley very properly remarks, " Mental derangement is 
a topic of such awful delicacy, that it is the duty of a bio- 
grapher, rather to sink in tender silence, than to proclaim 
with offensive temerity, the minute particulars of a calamity 
lo which all human beings are exposed, and, perhaps, in pro- 
portion as they have received from nature, those delightful 
but dangerous gifts — a heart of exquisite tenderness, and a 
mind of creative energy." This, as Cowper most beautiful- 
ly sings;— 

" This is a sight for pity to peruse, 
Till she resembles faintly what she views; 
This, of all maladies that man infest, 
Claims most compassion, and receives the least." 

Without, however, entering minutely into particulars, on 
this painful subject, it will not be deemed improper to men- 
tion some of the leading facts respecting it, and here we shall 
allow the poet again to become his own biographer. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 25 

*' The accuser of the brethren was ever busy with me night 
and day, bringing to my recollection, the commission of 
long-forgotten sins, and charging upon my conscience, things 
of an indifferent nature as atrocious crimes. Conviction of 
sin and despair of mercy, were the two prominent evils with 
which I was continually tormented. But, blessed be the 
God of my salvation for every sigh I drew, and for every 
tear I shed, since thus it pleased him to judge me here, that 
I might not be judged hereafter." 

" After five months' continued expectation that the divine 
vengeance would plunge me into the bottomless pit, I became 
so familiar with despair, as to have contracted a sort of hardi- 
ness and indifference as to the event. I began to persuade 
myself, that while the execution of the sentence was sus- 
pended, it would be for my interest to indulge a less horrible 
train of ideas, than I had been accustomed to muse upon. I 
entered into conversation with the doctor, laughed at his sto- 
ries, and told him some of my own to match them ; still, 
however, carrying a sentence of irrevocable doom in my 
heart. He observed the seeming alteration with pleasure, 
and began to think my recovery well nigh completed ; but 
the only thing that could promote and effectuate my cure, 
was yet wanting; an experimental knowledge of the redemp- 
tion which is in Christ Jesus." 

'♦ About this time my brother came from Cambridge to pay 
me a visit. Dr. C. having informed him, that he thought me 
better, he was disappointed at finding me almost as silent and 
reserved as ever. As soon as we were left alone, he asked 
me how I found myself; I answered, as much better as des- 
pair can make me. We went together into the garden. Here, 
on my expressing a settled assurance of sudden judgment, he 
protested to me that it was all a delusion ; and protested so 
strongly, that I could not help giving some attention to him. I 
burst into tears, and cried out. If it be a delusion, then am I the 
happiest of beings. Something like a ray of hope was now 
shot into my heart; but still I was afraid to indulge it. We 
dined together, and I spent the afternoon in a more cheerful 
manner. Something seemed to whisper to me, every moment, 
still there is mercy. Even after he left me, this change of 
sentiment gathered ground continually ; yet, my mind was 
in such a fluctuating state, that I can only call it a vague pre- 
sage of better things at hand, without being able to assign 
any reason for it." 

" A few days after my arrival at St. Albans, I had thrown 
aside the Bible as a book in which I had no longer any in- 



26 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

terest or portion. The only instance in which I can recol- 
lect reading a single chapter, was about two months be- 
fore my recovery. Having found a Bible on the bench in the 
garden, I opened it upon the 11th of John, where the miracle 
of Lazarus being raised from the dead is described ; and I 
saw so much benevolence, goodness, and mercy, in the Sa- 
viour's conduct, that I almost shed tears at the relation, little 
thinking that it was an exact type of the mercy, which Jesus 
was on the point of extending towards myself. I sighed, 
and said, Oh, that I had not rejected so good a Redeemer, 
tiiat I had not forfeited all his favour ! Thus was my hard 
heart softened ; and though my mind was not yet enlightened, 
God was gradually preparing me for the light of his counte- 
nance, and the joys of his salvation." 

" The cloud of horror which had so long hung over my 
mind began rapidly to pass away, every moment came fraught 
with hopes. I felt persuaded that I was not utterly doomed 
to destruction. The way of salvation was still, however, hid 
from my eyes ; nor did I see it clearer than before my illness, 
I only thought, that if it pleased God to spare me, I would 
lead a better life ; and that I would yet escape hell, if a reli- 
gious observance of my duty would secure me from it. Thus, 
may the terror of the Lord make a phari-see ; but only the 
sweet voice of mercy in the gospel can make a Christian." 

*' But the happy period, which was to shake off my fetters, 
and aiford me a clear discovery of the free mercy of God in 
Christ Jesus, was noAV arrived. I flung myself into a chair, 
near the window, and seeing a Bil)le there, ventured once 
more to apply to it for comfort and instruction. The first 
verse I saw, was, the 25th of the 3rd of Romans : ' Whom 
God hath set forth to be a p?-opifiation, through faith in his blood, 
to declare his righteousness fur the retnission of sins that are past, 
through the forbearaJice of GodJ* Immediately I received 
strength to believe, and the full beams of the sun of righte- 
ousness shone upon me. I saw the sufRciency of the atone- 
ment he had made for my pardon and complete justification. 
In a moment I believed, and received the peace of the gospel. 
Whatever my friend Madan had said to me, long before, re- 
vived in all its clearness, with the demonstration of the spirit, 
and with power." 

*' Unless the Almighty arm had been under me, I think I 
should have been overwhelmed with gratitude and joy. My 
eyes filled with tears, and my voice choked with transport. 
I could only look up to heaven in silent fear, overwhelmed 
with love and wonder. But the work of the Holy Spirit is 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 27 

best described in his own words : — it is ' Joy unspeakable and 
fall of glory .'' Thus was my heavenly Father in Christ Je- 
sus, pleased to give me the full assurance of faith ; and, out 
of a strong, unbelieving heart, to raise up a child unto Abra- 
ham. How glad should I now have been to have spent every 
moment in prayer and thanksgiving! I lost no opportunity 
of repairing to a throne of grace ; but flew to it with an earn- 
estness irresistible, and never to be satisfied. Could I help 
if? Could I do otherwise than love and rejoice in my re- 
conciled Father in Christ Jesus ? The Lord had enlarged my 
heart, and I could now cheerfully run in the way of his com- 
mandments." 

" For many succeeding weeks tears would be ready to flow 
if I did but speak of the gospel, or mention the name of Jesus. 
To rejoice day and night was all my employment ; too happy 
to sleep much, I thought it but lost time that was thus spent. 
Oh, that the ardour of my first love had continued ! But I 
have known many a lifeless and unhallowed hour since ; long 
intervals of darkness, interrupted by short returns of peace 
and joy in believing." 

His excellent physician, ever watchful and apprehensive 
for his welfare, now became alarmed, lest the sudden transi- 
tion, from despair to joy, should wholly overpower his mind ; 
but the Lord was his strength and his song, and had become 
his salvation. Christ was now formed in his heart, the hope 
of glory ; his fears were all dispelled ; despair, with its hor- 
rid train of evils, was banished from his mind ; a new and 
delightful scene was now opened before him ; he became the 
subject of new affections, new desires, and new joys; in a 
word, old things were passed away, and all things were be- 
come new. God had brought him up out of the horrible pit, 
and out of the miry clay, and had put a new song into his 
mouth, even praise to his God. He felt the full force of that 
liberty, of which he afterwards so sweetly sung — 

" A liberty unsung 

By poets, and by senators unpraised. 



E'en liberty of heart, derived from heaven ; 
Bought with his blood who gave it to mankind. 
And sealed with the same token!" 

The apprehensions of Dr. C soon subsided ; he saw with 
delight undoubted proofs of his patient's perfect recovery, 
became satisfied with the soundness of his cure, and subse- 



28 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

quently had much sweet communion with him in conversing 
about the great things of salvation. He now visited him 
every morning, as long as he remained under his care, which 
was near twelve months after his recovery, and the gospel 
was invariably the delightful theme of their conversation. 
The patient and the physician became thus every day more 
endeared to each other; and Cowper often afterwards looked 
back upon this period, as among the happiest days he had 
ever spent. 

His time no longer hung heavily upon his hands ; but 
every moment of it that he could command was employed in 
seeking to acquire more comprehensive views of the gospel. 
The Bible became his constant companion ; from this pure 
fountain of truth he drank of that living water, which was in 
him a well of water, springing up into everlasting life. Con- 
versation on spiritual subjects afforded him a high degree of 
enjoyment. Many delightful seasons did he spend thus em- 
ployed, while he remained with his beloved physician. His 
first transports of joy having subsided, a sweet serenity of 
spirit succeeded, uninterrupted by any of those distressing 
sensations which he had before experienced ; prayer and 
praise were his daily employment ; his heart overflowed with 
love to his Redeemer, and his meditation of him was sweet. 
In his own expressive and beautiful lines, he felt — 

"Ere yet mortality's fine threads gave way, 
A clear escape from tyrannizing sin, 
And full immunity from penal woe." 

His application to the study of the Scriptures must at this 
time have been intense ; for in the short space of twelve 
months he acquired comprehensive and scriptural views of 
the great plan of redemption ; and, in addition to this, his 
conceptions of real Christian experience, as distinguished 
from delusion and hypocrisy, were accurate and striking, and 
such as one would only have expected from an experienced 
Christian. He now composed two hymns, which exhibit an 
interesting proof of the scriptural character of those religious 
views he had then embraced. These hymns he himself 
styles specimens of his first Christian thoughts. Delightful 
specimens indeed they are ; and the circumstances under 
which they were composed will greatly enhance their value 
in the minds of those to whom they have long been endeared 
by their own intrinsic excellence. The first is upon Revela- 
tions XXI. 5. ; the second is entitled Retirement. The fol- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 29 

lowing lines of it are so touchingly beautiful, so correctly de- 
scriptive of the overflowings of his heart in solitude, while 
he walked with God, and was a stranger in the earth, having 
left his own connections, and not yet found new ones in the 
church ; and breathe throughout in strains so pure, tender, 
and unreserved, the language of the Christian's first love, that 
they cannot fail to be read with deep interest. 

" The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
With prayer and praise agree ; 
And seem by thy sweet bounty made 
For those who follow thee. 

There, if thy Spirit touch the soul. 
And grace her mean abode, 
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, 
She communes with her God. 

There like the nightingale she pours 
Her solitary lays ; 
Nor asks a witness of her song, 
Nor thirsts for human praise." 

His letters, written about this period, as well as those of a 
subsequent date, abound with proofs of his deep acquaintance 
with Christian experience. The following remarks are taken 
from a letter to Mrs. Cowper. " The deceitfulness of the na- 
tural heart is inconceivable. I know well that I passed 
among my friends for a person at least religiously inclined, 
if not actually religious; and what is more wonderful, I 
thought myself a Christian when I had no faith in Christ, 
and when I saw no beauty in him that I should desire him ; 
in short, when I had neither faith, nor love, nor any Chris- 
tian grace whatever, but a thousand seeds of rebellion instead, 
evermore springing up in enmity against him; but, blessed 
be the God of my salvation, the hail of affliction and rebuke 
has swept away the refuge of lies. It pleased the Almighty, 
in great mercy, to set all my misdeeds before me. At length 
the storm being past, a quick and peaceful serenity of soul 
succeeded, such as ever attends the gift of a lively faith in 
the all-sufficient atonement, and the sweet sense of mercy 
and pardon purchased by the blood of Christ. Thus did he 
break me and bind me up ; thus did he wound me and make 
me whole. This, however, is but a summary account of my 
conversion ; neither would a volume contain the astonishing 
3* 



30 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

particulars of it. If we meet again in this world I will relate 
them to you ; if not, they will serve for the subject of a con- 
ference in the next, where, I doubt not, we shall remember, 
and record them with a gratitude better suited to the sub- 
ject." 

In another letter to his amiable and accomplished cousin. 
Lady Hesketh, he thus writes. "Since the visit you were 
so kind as to pay me in the Temple, (the only time I ever 
saw you without pleasure,) what have I not suffered ] And 
since it has pleased God to restore me to the use of my rea- 
son, what have I not enjoyed "? You know by experience 
how pleasant it is to feel the first approaches of health after a 
fever ; but, oh ! the fever of the brain ! to feel the quenching 
of that fire, is indeed a blessing which I think it impossible 
to receive without the most consummate gratitude. Terrible 
as this chastisement is, I acknowledge in it the hand of infi- 
nite justice ; nor is it at all more difficult for me to perceive 
in it the hand of infinite mercy ; when I consider the effect it 
has had upon me, I am exceedingly thankful for it, and es- 
teem it the greatest blessing, next to life itself, I ever receiv- 
ed from the divine bounty. I pray God I may ever retain 
the sense of it, and then I am sure I shall continue to be, as 
I am at present, really happy. My affliction has taught me 
a road to happiness, which, without it, I should never have 
found ; and I know, and have experience of it every day, 
that the mercy of God to the believer is more than sufficient 
to compensate for the loss of every other blessing. You will 
believe that my happiness is no dream, because I have told 
you the foundation on which it is built. What I have writ- 
ten would appear like enthusiasm to many, for we are apt to 
give that name to every warm affection of the mind in others, 
which we have not experienced ourselves ; but to you, who 
have so much to be thankful for, and a temper inclined to 
gratitude, it will not appear so." 

To the same lady, a day or two afterwards, he writes — 
" How naturally does affliction make us Christians ! and 
how impossible is it, when all human help is vain, and the 
whole earth too poor and trifling to furnish us with one mo- 
ment's peace, how impossible is it then to avoid looking at 
the gospel. It gives me some concern, though at the same 
time it increases my gratitude to reflect, that a convert made 
in Bedlam is more likely to be a stumbling-block to others 
than to advance their faith. But if it have that effect upon 
any, it is owing to their reasoning amiss, and drawing their 
conclusion flrom false premises. He who can ascribe an 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 31 

amendment of life and manners, and a reformation of the 
heart itself, to madness, is guilty of an absurdity, that in any 
other case would fasten the imputation of madness upon him- 
self; for, by so doing-, he ascribes a reasonable effect to an 
unreasonable cause, and a positive effect to a negative. But 
when Christianity only is to be sacrificed, he that stabs deep- 
est is always the wisest man. You, my dear cousin your- 
self, will be apt to think I carry the matter too far ; and that 
in the present warmth of my heart, I make too ample a con- 
cession in saying that I am only now a convert. You thiak 
I always believed, and 1 thought so too ; but you were de- 
ceived, and so was I. I called myself indeed a Christian, 
but he who knows my heart knows that I never did a right 
thing, nor abstained from a wrong one, because I was so; 
but if I did either, it was under the influence of some other 
motive. And it is such seeming Christians, such pretending 
believers, that do most mischief in the cause, and furnish the 
strongest arguments to support the infidelity of its enemies : 
unless profession and conduct go together, the man's life is 
a lie, and the validity of what he professes itself, is called in 
question. The difference between a Christian and an unbe- 
liever, would be so striking, if the treacherous allies of the 
church would go over at once to the other side, that I am sa- 
tisfied religion would be no loser by the bargain. You say, 
you hope it is not necessary for salvation to undergo the same 
affliction that I have undergone. No ! my dear Cousin, God 
deals with his children as a merciful father ; he does not, as 
he himself tells us, afflict us willingly. Doubtless there are 
many, who, having been placed by his good providence out 
of the reach of evil, and the influence of bad example, have, 
from their very infancy, been partakers of the grace of his 
Holy Spirit, in such a manner, as never to have allowed 
themselves in any grievous offence against hirn. May you 
love him more and more, day by day, as every day while you 
think of him you will find him more worthy of your love, 
and may you be finally accepted by him for his sake, 
whose intercession for all his faithful servants cannot but pre- 
vail." 

In the same letter he thus expresses his gratitude to God 
for placing him under the care of Dr. Cotton : — " I reckon it 
one instance of the providence that has attended me through 
this whole event, that I was not delivered into the hands 
of some London physician, but was carried to Dr. Cotton. 
I was not only treated by him with the greatest tenderness 
while I was ill, and attended with the utmost diligence, but 



33 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

when my reason was restored to me, and I had so much need of 
a religious friend to converse with, to whom I could open my 
mind upon the subject without reserve, I could hardly have 
found a better person for the purpose. My eagerness and 
anxiety to settle my opinions upon that long neglected point, 
made it necessary, that while my mind was yet weak, and 
my spirits uncertain, I should have some assistance. The 
doctor was as ready to administer relief to me in this article 
likewise, and as well qualified to do it, as in that which was 
more immediately his province. How many physicians 
would have thought this an irregular appetite, and a symp- 
tom of remaining madness ! But if it were so, my friend was 
as mad as myself, and it is well for me that he was so. My 
dear Cousin, you know not half the deliverances I have 
received ; my brother is the only one in the family who does. 
My recovery is indeed a signal one, and my future life must 
express my thankfulness, for by words I cannot do it." 

He now employed his brother to seek out for him an abode 
somewhere in the neighbourhood of Cambridge, as lie had 
determined to leave London, the scene of his former misery ; 
and that nothing might induce him to return thither, he re- 
signed the office of commissioner of bankrupts, worth about 
60/. per annum, which he still held. By this means, he re- 
duced himself to an income barely sufficient for his mainte- 
nance ; but he relied upon the gracious promise of God, that 
bread should be given him, and water should be sure. 

On being informed that his brother had made many unsuc- 
cessful attempts to procure him a suitable dwelling, he, one 
day, poured out his soul in prayer to God, beseeching him, 
that wherever he should be pleased, in his fatherly mercy, to 
place him, it might be in the society of those who feared his 
name, and loved the Lord Jesus in sincerity. This prayer, 
God was pleased, graciously to answer. In the beginning of 
June, 1765, he received a letter from his brother, to say, he 
had engaged such lodgings for him at Huntingdon, as he 
thought would suit him. Though this was farther from Cam- 
bridge, where his brother then resided, than he wished, yet, 
as he was now in perfect health, and as his circumstances 
required a less expensive way of life than his present, he 
resolved to take them, and arranged his afifairs accordingly. 

On the 17th of June, 1765, having spent more than eigh- 
teen months at St. Albans, partly in the bondage of despair, 
and partly in the liberty of the gospel, he took leave of the 
place, at four in the iporning, and set out for Cambridge, 
taking with him the serveuit who had attended him while he 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 33 

remained with Dr. Cotton, and who had maintained an affec- 
tionate watchfulness over him during the whole of his ill- 
ness, waiting upon him, on all occasions, with the greatest 
patience, and invariably treating him with the greatest kind- 
ness. The mingled emotions of his mind on leaving the 
place were painful and pleasing ; he regarded it as the place 
of second nativity ; he had here passed from death unto life 
— had been favoured with much leisure to study the word of 
God — had enjoyed much happiness in conversing upon its 
great truths with his esteemed physician ; and he left it with 
considerable reluctance ; offering up many prayers to God, 
that his richest blessings might rest upon its worthy man- 
ager, and upon all its inmates. 

The state of his mind on this occasion he thus affection- 
ately describes : — I remembered the pollution which is in the 
world and the sad share I had in it myself, and my heart 
ached at the thought of entering it again. The blessed God 
had endowed me with some concern for his glory, and I was 
fearful of hearing his name traduced by oaths and blasphe- 
mies, the common language of this highly-favoured but un- 
grateful country ; but the promise of God, ' Fear not, I am 
with thee,' was my comfort. I passed the whole of my jour- 
ney in fervent prayer to God, earnestly but silently entreat- 
ing Him to be my guardian and counsellor in all my future 
journey through life, and to bring me in safety, when he had 
accomplished his purposes of grace and mercy towards me, 
to eternal glory." 



( 34 ) 



CHAPTER IV. 



Hemoval to Huntingdcrn — Sensations there — Engages in public 
worship for the first time after his recovery — Delight it afford- 
ed him — Commences a regular correspondence with some of his 
friends — Pleasure he experienced in writing on rel'gious sub' 
jects — Anxiety of his mind for the spiritual welfare of his 
former associates — Attributes their continuance in sin chiefly 
to infidelity — Folly of this — Beauty of the Scriptures — Ab- 
surdity of attributing events to second causes, instead of to the 
overruling providence of God — Dependence upon Divine direc- 
tion the best support in affliction — Forms some new connec- 
tions — Becomes acquainted with the Unwin family — Happi- 
ness he experienced in their company. 

After spending a few days with his brother at Cambridge, 
Cowper repaired to Huntingdon, and entered upon his new 
abode, on Saturday, the 22d of June, 1765; taking with him 
the servant he had brought frrm St. Albans, to whom he had 
become strongly attached for the great kindness he had shown 
him in his affliction. His brother, who had accompanied him 
thither, had no sooner left him, than finding himself alone, 
surrounded by strangers, in a strange place, his spirits began 
to sink, and he felt like a traveller in the midst of an inhospi- 
table desert ; without a friend to comfort, or a guide to direct 
him. He walked forth, towards the close of the day, in this 
melancholy frame of mind, and having wandered about a 
mile from the town, he found his heart so powerfully drawn 
towards the Lord, that on gaining a secret and retired nook 
in the corner of a field, he kneeled down under a bank, and 
poured out his complaints unto God. It pleased his merciful 
Father to hear him ; the load was removed from his mind, 
and he was enabled to trust in Him that careth for the 
stranger; to roll his burden upon Him, and to rest assured, 
that wherever God might cast his lot, he would still be his 
guardian and shield. 

The following day he went to church, for the first time 
after his recovery. Throughout the whole of the service, his 
emotions were so powerfully aflTecting, that it was with much 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 35 

difficulty he could restrain them, so much did he see of the 
beauty and glory of the Lord while thus worshipping Him in 
his temple. His heart was full of love to all the congrega- 
tion, especially to such as seemed serious and attentive. 
Such was the goodness of God to him, that he gave him the 
oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spi- 
rit of heaviness; and, though he joined not with the congre- 
gation in singing the praises of his God, being prevented by 
the intenseness of his feelings, yet his soul sung within him, 
and leaped for joy. The parable of the prodigal son was the 
portion of scripture read in the gospel appointed for the day. 
He saw himself in that glass so clearly, and the loving kind- 
ness of his slighted and forgotten Lord, that the whole scene 
was realized by him, and acted over in his heart. And he 
thus describes his feelings on hearing it : — " When the gos- 
pel for the day was read, it seemed more than I could well 
support. Oh, what a word is the word of God, when the 
Spirit quickens us to receive it, and gives the hearing ear, 
and the understanding heart ! The harmony of heaven is in 
it, and discovers clearly and satisfactorily its author." 

Immediately after church he repaired to the place where 
he had prayed the day before, and found the relief he had 
there received was but the earnest of a richer blessing. The 
Lord was pleased to visit him with his gracious presence, he 
seemed to speak to him face to face, as a man speaketh to 
his friend ; He made all His goodness pass before him, and 
constrained him to say with Jacob, not " how dreadful," but 
" how lovely is this place ! This is the house of God, and 
the gate of heaven." 

He remained four months in the lodgings procured for 
him by his brother, secluded from the bustling and active 
scenes of life, and receiving only an occasional visit from 
some of his neighbours. Though he had little intercourse 
with men, yet he enjoyed much fellowship with God in 
Christ Jesus. Living by faith, and thus tasting the joys of 
the unseen world, his solitude was sweet, his meditations 
were delightful, and he wanted no other enjoyments. He 
now regularly corresponded with all his.intimate friends, and 
his letters furnish the clearest proofs of the happy, and in- 
deed, almost enviable state of his mind, during this period. 
To Lady Hesketh, in a letter dated July 5, 1765, he thus dis- 
closes his feelings: — "I should have written to you from 
St. Albans long ago, but was willing to perform quarantine, 
as well for my own sake, as because I thought my letters 



36 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

would be more satisfactory to you from any other quarter. 
You will perceive I allowed myself a sufficient time for the 
purpose, for I date my recovery from the latter end of last 
July, having been ill seven, and well twelve months. About 
that time, my brother came to see me ; I was far from well 
when he arrived, yet, though he only remained one day, his 
company served to put to flight, a thousand deliriums and 
delusions which I still laboured under." 

" As far as I am acquainted with ray new residence, I like 
it extremely. Mr. Hodgson, the minister of the parish, made 
me a visit yesterday. He is very sensible, a good preacher, 
and conscientious in the discharge of his duty: he is well 
known to Dr. Newton, Bishop of Bristol, the author of the 
treatise on the Prophecies, the most demonstrable proof of 
the truth of Christianity, in my mind, that was ever pub- 
lished." 

In another letter, a few days afterwards, to the same lady, 
he thus writes ; — " Mentioning Newton's Treatise on the 
Prophecies brings to my mind an anecdote of Dr. Young, 
who you know died lately at Welwyn. Dr. Cotton, who 
was intimate with him, paid him a visit about a fortnight be- 
fore he was seized with his last illness. The old man was 
then in perfect health ; the antiquity of his person, the gravity 
of his utterance, and the earnestness with which he discoursed 
about religion, gave hira, in the doctor's eye, the appear- 
ance of a prophet. They had been delivering their senti- 
ments on Newton's Treatise, when Young closed the confer- 
ence thus — ' My friend, there are two considerations upon 
which my faith in Christ is built as upon a rock : first, the 
fall of man, the redemption of man, and the resurrection of 
man ; these three cardinal articles of our holy religion are 
such as human ingenuity could never have invented, there- 
fore they must be divine : the other is the fulfilment of pro- 
phecy, of which there is abundant demonstration. This 
proves that the scripture must be the word of God, and if so, 
Christianity must be true.' " 

Cowper now lived in the full enjoyment of religion. Its 
truths supported his mind, and furnished him with an ample 
field for meditation ; its promises consoled him, freed him 
from every distressing sensation, and filled him with joy un- 
speakable and full of glory ; its duties regulated all his con- 
duct, and his chief anxiety was to live entirely to the glory 
of God. The following beautiful lines of the poet are strik- 
ingly descriptive of his feelings at this period : — 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 37 

" I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 

Long since ; with many an arrow deep enfix'd 
My panting sides were charged, when 1 withdrew 
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
There was I found by one who had himself 
Been hurt by th' ai'chers : in his sides he bore, 
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
With gentle force soliciting the darts, 
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live. 
Since then, with few associates, in remote 
And silent woods I wander, far from those 
My former partners of the peopled scene ; 
With few associates, and not wisliing more, 
Here much I ruminate, as much I may, 
With other views of men and mannei's now 
Than once ; and others of a life to come." 

On all affairs connected with religion, Cowper now de- 
lighted to think and to converse, and his best letters were 
those in which he could freely introduce them to his cor- 
respondents. In the close of the letter from which we mad6 
the above extract, he thus writes : — " My dear cousin, how 
happy am I in having a friend to whom I can open my heart 
upon these subjects ! I have many intimates in the world, 
and have had many more than I shall have hereafter, to 
whom a long letter upon those most important articles would 
appear tiresome at least, if not impertinent. But I am not afraid 
of meeting with that reception from you, who have never yet 
made it your interest that there should be no truth in the 
word of God. May this everlasting truth be your comfort 
while you live, and attend you with peace and joy in your 
last moments. I love you too well not to make this a part 
of my prayers ; and when I remember my friends on these 
occasions, there is no likelihood that you can be forgotten." 

In another letter to Lady Hesketh, dated 1st of August, 
1765, he thus adverts to the character of his former associates, 
and feelingly expresses his anxiety for their spiritual wel- 
fare : — " I have great reason to be thankful I have lost none 
of my acquaintance but those whom I determined not to 
keep: I am sorry this class is so numerous. What would I 
not give, that every friend I have in the world were not al- 
most, but altogether Christians? My dear cousin, I am half 
afraid to talk to you in this style, lest I should seem to in- 
dulge a censorious humour, instead of hoping, as I ought, the 
best of all men. But what can be said against ocular proof, 
and what is hope when built upon presumption] To use the 
4 



38 . THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

most holy name in the universe for no purpose, or a bad one, 
contrary to his pwn express commandment, to pass the day 
and the succeeding days, weeks, and months, and years, 
without one act of private devotion, one confession of our 
sins, or one thanksgiving for the numberless blessings we 
enjoy; to hear the word of God in public with a distracted 
attention, or with none at all ; to absent ourselves voluntarily 
from the blessed communion, and to live in the total neglect 
of it, are the common and ordinary liberties, which the gene- 
rality of professors alloAV themselves : and what is this, but 
to live without God in the world. Many causes might be as- 
signed for this anti-christian spirit so prevalent among pro- 
fessors, but one of the principal I take to be their utter for- 
getfulness, that the Bible which they have in their possession, 
is, in reality, the Word of God. My friend. Sir William 
Russell, was distantly related to a very accomplished man, 
who, though he never believed the gospel, admired the 
scriptures as the s\iblimest compositions in the world, and 
read them often. I have m)rself been intimate with a man 
of fine taste, who has confessed to me, that though he could 
not subscribe to the truth of Christianity itself, yet he never 
could read St. Luke's account of our Saviour's appearance to 
his two disciples going to Emmaus, without being wonder- 
fully affected by it ; and he thought, that if the stamp of di- 
vinity was anywhere to be found in scripture, it was strongly 
marked and visibly impressed upon that passage. If these 
men, whose hearts were chilled with the darkness of infide- 
lity, could find such cliarms in the mere style of scripture, 
what must those find whose eyes could penetrate deeper than 
the letter, and who firmly believed themselves interested in 
all the invaluable privileges of the gospeH Had this mere 
man of taste searched a little further, he might have found 
other parts of the sacred history as strongly marked with the 
characters of Divinity as that he mentioned. The parable of 
the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was in- 
vented ; our Saviour's speech to his disciples, with which he 
closes his earthly ministration, full of the sublimest dignity 
and tenderest affection, surpass every thing that I ever read, 
and, like the spirit with which they were dictated, fly directly 
to the heart. If the scripture did not disdain all a9ectation 
of ornament, one should call such as these its ornamental 
parts ; but the matter of it is that upon which it principally 
stakes its credit with us, and the style, however excellent, is 
only one of the many external evidences by which it recom- 
mends itself to our belief." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 39 

The wannest expressions of his gratitude to God for his 
distinguishing goodness to him, during his affliction, were 
frequently employed in his letters. In one, dated 4th Sep- 
tember, 1765, he thus writes to his cousin: — "Two of my 
friends have been cut off during my illness, in the midst of 
such a life as it is frightful to reflect upon, and here am I, in 
better health and spirits, than I can ever remember to have 
enjoyed, after having spent months in the apprehension of 
instant death. How mysterious are the ways of Providence ! 
Why did I receive grace and mercy? Why was I preserved, 
afflicted for my good, received, as 1 trust, into favour, and 
blessed with the greatest happiness I can ever know, or hope 
for in this life, while these were overtaken by the great ar- 
rest, unawakened, unrepenting, and every way unprepared 
for it ■? H-is infinite wisdom, to whose infinite mercy I owe 
it all, can solve these questions, and none else. A free- 
thinker, as many a man miscals himself, would, without 
doubt, say, ' Sir, you were in great danger, and had, indeed, 
a most fortunate escape.' How excessively foolish, as well 
as shocking, is such language ! As if life depended upon 
luck, and all that we are, or can be, all that we have now, or 
can hope for hereafter, could possibly be referred to accident. 
To this freedom of thought it is owing, that he, who is 
thoroughly apprized of the death of the meanest of his crea- 
tures, is supposed to leave those whom he has made in his 
own image, to the mercy of chance ; and to this it is likewise 
owing,, that the correction which our heavenly Father be- 
stows upon us, that we may be fitted to receive his blessing, 
is so often disappointed of its benevolent intention. Fevers, 
and all diseases, are regarded as accidents ; and long life, 
health, recovery from sickness, as the gift of the physician. 
No man can be a greater friend to the use of means upon 
these occasions than myself; for it were presumption and en- 
thusiasm to neglect them. God has endued them with sa- 
lutary properties on purpose that we might avail ourselves of 
them. But to impute our recovery to the medicine, and to 
carry our views no further, is to rob God of his honour. He 
that thinks thus, may as well fall upon his knees at once, 
and return thanks to the medicine that cured him, for it was 
certainly more immediately instrumental in his recovery than 
either the apothecary or the doctor." 

No one ever watched more carefully the providence of God 
than Cowper. His views of it were just and scriptural, as 
is abundantly evident by the above remarks, and, if possible, 
more clearly evinced by the following extracts from the same 



40 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

excellent letter: — " My dear cousin, a firm persuasion of the 
superintendence of Providence over all our concerns, is abso- 
lutely necessary to our happiness. Without it we cannot be 
said to believe in the scripture, or practise any thing like re- 
signation to his will. If I am convinced that no affliction 
can befall me without the permission of God, I am convinced 
likewise that he sees, and knows, that I am afflicted ; be- 
lieving this, I must, in the same degree, believe that, if I 
pray to him for deliverance, he hears me ; I must needs know 
likewise, with equal assurance, that if he hears, he will de- 
liver me, I may rest well assured that he has none but the 
most benevolent intention in declining it. He made us, not 
because we could add to his happiness, which was always 
perfect, but that we might be happy ourselves ; and will he 
not in all his dispensations towards us, even in the minutest, 
consult that end for which he made us? To suppose the con- 
trary, is to affront every one of his attributes, and to re- 
nounce utterly our dependence upon him. In this view it 
will appear plainly, that the line of duty is not stretched too 
tight, when we are told that we ought to accept everything 
at his hands as a blessing, and to be thankful even when we 
smart under the rod of iron with which he sometimes rules 
us. Without this persuasion, every blessing, however we 
may think ourselves happy in the possession of it, loses its 
greatest recommendation, and every affliction is intolerable. 
Death itself must be welcome to him who has this faith ; 
and he who has it not must aim at it, if he is not a madman." 
The excellence of these extracts from Cowper's correspond- 
ence will, it is hoped, be admitted by every reader as a suf- 
ficient apology for the interruption they may occasion to our 
narrative. They might be greatly enlarged; but it is not in- 
tended to admit an}^ except such as will, in some degree at 
least, serve to describe his character. 

It was not to be expected that a person like Cowper could 
remain long unnoticed, how reserved soever was his conduct. 
Accordingly, he had been at Huntingdon only a short time 
before he was visited by several persons, and introduced into 
several families, all eminently distinguished for their respec- 
tability, and general consistency of conduct. This soon en- 
deared him to the place, and he thus communicated his sen- 
timents respecting it to his correspondents; — " The longer I 
live here the better I like the place, and the people who be- 
long to it. I am upon very good terms with five families, 
all of whom receive me with the utmost cordiality. You 
may recollect that I had but very uncomfortable expectations 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 41 

of the accommodations I should meet with in Huntingdon. 
How much better is it to take our lot, where it shall please 
Providence to cast it, without anxiety! Had I chosen for 
myself, it is impossible I could have fixed upon a place so 
agreeable to me in all respects. I so much dreaded the thought 
of having a new acquaintance to make with no other recom- 
mendation than that of being a perfect stranger, that I hearti- 
ly wished no creature here might take the least notice of me. 
Instead of which, in about two months after my arrival, I 
became known to all the visitable people here, and do verily 
think it the most agreeable neighbourhood I ever saw. My 
brother and I meet every week by an alternate reciprocation 
of intercourse, as Sam Johnson would express it. As to my 
own personal condition, I am much happier than the day is 
long; and sunshine and candle-light alike, see me perfectly 
contented. I get books in abundance, as much company as I 
choose, a deal of comfortable leisure, and enjoy better health, 
I think, than for many years past. What is there wanting to 
make me happy 1 Nothing, if I can but be as ^thankful 3is 
I ought; and I trust that He, who has bestowed so many 
blessings on me, will give me gratitude to crown them all. 
I thank God for all the pleasing circumstances here, for my 
health of body, and perfect serenity of mind. To recollect 
the past, and. compare it with the present, is all that I need 
to fill me v/ith gratitude ; and to be grateful is to be happy. 
I am far from thinking myself sufficiently grateful, or from 
indulging the hope that I shall ever be so in the present life. 
The warmest heart, perhaps, only feels by fits, and is often 
as insensible as the coldest. This, at least, is frequently the 
case with mine, and much oftener than it should be." 

Among tlie families with whom Cowper was on terms of 
intimacy, there were none so entirely congenial to his taste 
as that of the Reverend Mr. Unwin. This worthy divine, 
who was now far advanced in years, had formerly been mas- 
ter of a free school in Huntingdon. On obtaining, however, 
from his college at Cambridge, the living of Grimston, he 
married Miss Cawthorne, the daughter of a very respectable 
draper in Ely, by whom he had two children, a son and a 
daughter. Disliking their residence at Grimston, they re- 
moved to Huntingdon, where they had now residf|l for many 
years. 

Cowper became acquainted with this interesting family, 

which was afterwards, almost to the close of his life, a source 

of comfort to him, in the following rather singular manner. 

The Unwins frequently noticed Mr. C. and remarked the de- 

4* 



42 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

gree of piety and intelligence he seemed to possess ; this in- 
duced them to wish for farther acquaintance with the inte- 
resting stranger : his manners, however, were so reserved, 
that an introduction to him seemed wholly out of their reach. 
After waiting some time, with no apparent prospect of suc- 
cess, their eldest son, Mr. W. Unwin, though dissauded from 
it by his mother, lest it should be thought too intrusive, ven- 
tured to speak to Mr. Cowper one day, when they were 
coming out of church, after morning prayers, and to engage 
himself to take tea with Mr. C. that afternoon. This was 
perfectly agreeable to Cowper, who, in one of his letters 
some time afterwards, thus describes his new-made acquaint- 
ance : — " To my inexpressible joy, I found him one, whose 
notions of religion were spiritual and lively ; one, whom the 
Lord had been training up from his infancy for the temple. 
We opened our hearts to each other at the first interview; 
and when he parted, I immediately retired to my chamber, 
and prayed the Lord, who had been the author, to be the 
guardian of our friendship, and to grant to it fervency and 
perpetuity, even unto death ; and I doubt not that my gra- 
cious Father heard this prayer." A friendship thus formed 
was not likely to be soon interrupted ; accordingly it conti- 
nued with unabated affection through life, and became to both 
parties a source of much real enjoyment. Well would it be 
for Christians, were they, in making choice of their friends, 
to follow the example of Cowper! Entering upon it by 
earnest prayer to God for his blessing, they might then hope 
to derive all those invaluable benefits from it, which it is 
adapted and designed to convey. 

The following Sabbath Cowper dined with the Unwins, 
and was treated w^ith so much cordiality and real affection, 
that he ever after felt the warmest attachment to this interest- 
ing famil)^ In his letters on the subject he thus writes : — 
" The last acquaintance I have made here is of the race of 
the Unwins, consisting of father and mother, son and daugh- 
ter; they are the most agreeable people imaginable; quite 
sociable, and as free from the ceremonious civility of coun- 
try gentlefolks as I ever met -vVith. They treat me more like 
a near relation than a stranger, and their house is always 
open to ma* The old gentleman carries me to Cambridge in 
hi^ chaise ; he is a man of learning and good sense, and as 
simple as parson Adams. His wife has a very uncommon 
understanding, has read much to excellent purpose, and is 
more polite than a duchess ; she treats me with an affection 
so truly Christian, that I could almost fancy my own mother 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 43 

restored to life again, to compensate me for all my lost friends, 
and broken connections. She has a son, in all respects, wor- 
thy ot such a mother, the most amiable young man I ever 
knew ; he is not yet arrived at that time of life when suspi- 
cion recommends itself to us in the form of wisdom, and sets 
everything but our own dear selves at an immeasurable dis- 
tance from our esteem and confidence. Consequently he is 
known almost as soon as seen ; and having nothing in his 
heart that makes it necessary for him to keep it barred and 
bolted, opens it to the perusal even of a stranger. His na- 
tural and acquired endowments are very considerable, and as 
to his virtues, I need only say that he is a Christian. Miss 
Unwin resembles her mother in her great piety, who is one 
of the most remarkable instances of it I ever knew. They 
are altogether the most cheerful and engaging family it is 
possible to conceive. They see but little company, which 
suits me exactly; go when I will, I find a house full of peace 
and cordiality in all its parts, and am sure to hear no scandal, 
but such discourse instead of it as we are all the better for. 
Now I know them, I wonder that I liked Huntingdon so well 
before, and am apt to think I should find every place disa- 
greeable that had not an Unwin belonging to it." 



( 44 ) 



CHAPTER V. 



Cowper becomes an inmate with Mr, Unwinds family — Is much 
delighted vnth their society — Describes the manner in which 
they spent their time — His opinion retpzcting the hiowledge 
which Christians will have of each other in Heaven — fVhat 
will engage their thoughts there — Just Views of Christian 
friendship — Strength of his religious affections — Humbling 
views of himself — Melancholy death of Mr. Unwin — Cowper^ s 
reflections upon it — Mr. Newton's unexpected but pj-ovidential 
visit to Mrs. Unwin — CowpcPs determination to remain with 
the family — Their removal from Huntingdon to Olney, 

Towards the end of October, 1765, Cowper beg^an to fear 
that his solitary and lonely situation, would not be agreeable 
to him durinor the winter; and finding his present method of 
living, though he was strictly economical, rather too expen- 
sive for his limited income, he judged it expedient to look out 
for a family, with which he might become an inmate, where 
he might enjoy the advantage of social and familiar inter- 
course, and be subject to a less expensive establishment. It 
providentially occurred to him, that he might probably be ad- 
mitted, on such terms, into Mr. Unwin's famil)'. He knew 
that a young gentleman, who had lived with them as a pupil, 
had just left them for 'Cambridge, and it appeared not impro- 
bable, that he might be allowed to succeed him, not as a pu- 
pil, but as an inmate. This subject occasioned him a tumult 
of anxious solicitude, and for some days, he could not possi- 
bly divert his attention from it. He at length, made it the 
subject of earnest prayer to his Heavenly Father, that he 
would be pleased to bring this affair to such an issue, as 
would be most calculated to promote His own glory ; and he 
had the satisfaction, in a short time, to receive a gracious an- 
swer to his petitions. A few days afterwards he mentioned 
the subject to Mrs. Unwin, a satisfactory arrangement was 
very speedily made with the family, and he entered upon his 
new abode, the eleventh of November, 1765. 

The manner in which he spent his time while associated 
with this exemplary family, and the high degree of enjoy- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 54 

ment he there experienced, will be seen by the following' ex- 
tracts from his correspondence with his two amiable cousins, 
Lady Hesketh and Mrs. Cowper. To the former he« thus 
writes : — 

" My dear Cousin, — The frequency of your letters to me, 
while I lived alone, was occasioned, I am sure, by your re- 
gard for my welfare, and was an act of particular charity. I 
bless God, however, that I was happy even then ; solitude 
has nothing gloomy in it, if the soul points upwards. St. 
Paul tells his Hebrew converts, ' Ye are come,' (already 
come) ' to Mount Sion, to an innumerable co npany of an- 
gels, to the general assembly of the first born, which are writ- 
ten in heaven, and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant.' 
When this is the case, as surely as it was with them, or tlie 
Spirit of truth would never have spoken it, there is an end 
to the melancholy and dulness of life at once. You will not 
suspect me, my dear cousin, of a design to understand this 
passage literally ; but this, however, it certainly means, that 
a lively faith is able to anticipate, in some measure, the joys 
of that heavenly society which the soul shall actually pos- 
sess hereafter. 

" Since I have changed my situation, I have found still 
greater cause of thanksgiving to the Father of all mercies. 
The family with whom I live are Christians, and it has 
pleased the Almighty to bring me to the knowledge of them, 
that I may want no means of improvement in that temper 
and conduct which he requires of all his servants. My dear 
cousin! one-half of the Christian world would call this mad- 
ness, fanaticism, and folly ; but are not these things war- 
ranted by the word of God. If we have no communion with 
God here, surely we can expect none hereafter. A faith that 
does not place our conversation in heaven ; that does not 
warm the heart, and purify it too ; that does not, in short, 
govern our thoughts, words, and deeds, is not Christian faith, 
nor can we procure it by any spiritual blessing, here or here- 
after. Let us therefore see that we. do not deceive ourselves 
in a matter of such infinite moment. The world will be ever 
telling us that we are good enough, and the world will vilify 
us behind our backs : but it is not the world which tries the 
heart — that is the prerogative of God alone. My dear cousin ! 
I have often prayed for you behind your back, and now I pray 
for you to your face. There are many who would not for- 
give me this wrong, but I have known you so long, and so 
well, that I am not afraid of telling you how sincerely I wish 



46 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

for your growth in every Christian grace, in every thing that 
may promote and secure your everlasting welfare." 

To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus writes: — "I am 
obliged to you for the interest you take in my welfare, and 
for your inquiring so particularly after the manner in which 
my time passes here. As to amusements — ^I mean what the 
world calls such — we have none ; the place, indeed, swarms 
with them, and cards and dancing are the professed business 
of almost all the gent k inhabitants of Huntingdon. We re- 
fuse to take part in them, or to be accessaries to this way of 
murdering our lime, and by so doing have acquired the name 
of Methodists. Having told you how we do not spend our 
time, I will next say how we do. We breakfast commonly 
between eight and nine ; till eleven, we read either the 
scripture or the sermons of some faithful preacher ; at eleven, 
we attend divine service, which is performed here every day ; 
and from twelve to three, we separate, and amuse ourselves 
as we please. During that interval, I read in my own apart- 
ment, or walk, or ride, or work in the garden. We seldom 
sit an hour after dinner, but if the weather permits, adjourn 
into the garden, Avhere, with Mrs. Unwin and her son,I have 
generally the pleasure of religious conversa ion till tea-time. 
If it rains, or is too windy for walking, we either converse 
within doors, or sing some hymns of Martin's collection, and 
by the help of Mrs. Unwin's harpsichord, make up a tolera- 
ble concert, in which our hearts are tlie best and the most 
musical performers. After tea, we sally forth to take a walk 
in good earnest, and we have generally travelled four miles 
before we see home again. At night we read and converse 
till supper, and commonly finish the evening either with 
hymns, or with a sermon ; and last of all, the 'family are 
called to prayers. I need not tell you that such a life as this 
is consistent with the utmost cheerfulness ; accordingly, we 
are all happy, and dwell together in unity as brethren. Mrs. 
Unwin has almost a maternal affection for me, and I have 
something very like a filial one for her, and her son and I are 
brothers. Blessed be the God of our salvation for such com- 
panions, and for such a life ; above all, for a heart to relish 
it." 

It was during his residence with this family, while they 
resided at Huntingdon, that he wrote some of those excellent 
letters to Mrs. Cowper, with extracts from which it is our 
intention to enrich this part of his memoirs. Speaking of 
the knowledge which Christians will have of each other 
hereafter, he remarks — " Reason is able to form many plausi- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 47 

ble conjectures concerning the possibility of our knowing 
each other in a future state ; and the scripture has, here ana 
there, favoured us with an expression that looks at least like 
a slight intimation of it ; but because a conjecture can never 
amount to a proof, and a slight intimation cannot be construed 
into a positive assertion, therefore I think we can never come 
to any absolute conclusion upon the subject. We may, in- 
deed, reason about the plausibility of our conjectures, and 
we may discuss, with great industry and shrewdness of 
argument,, those passages in the scripture which seem to 
favour this opinion ; but still no certain means having been 
afforded us, no certain end can be attained ; and after all that 
can be said, it will still be doubtful whether we shall know 
each other or not. Both reason and scripture, however, fur- 
nish us with a great number of arguments on the affirmative 
side. In the parable of Dives and Lazarus, Dives is repre- 
sented as knowing Lazarus, and Abraham as knowing them 
both, and the discourse between them is entirely concerning 
their respective characters and circumstances upon earth. 
Here, therefore, our Saviour seems to countenance the notion 
of a mutual knowledge and recollection ; and if a soul that 
has perished shall know a soul that is saved, surely the heirs 
of salvation shall know and recollect each other. 

" Paul, in the first epistle to the Thessalonians, encou- 
rages the faithful and laborious minister of Christ to expect 
that a knowledge of those who had been converted by their 
instrumentality would contribute greatly to augment their 
felicity in a future state, when each minister should appear 
before the throne of God, saying, ' Here am I, with the 
children thou hast given me.' This seems- to imply, that 
the apostle should know the converts, and the converts the 
apostle, at least at the day of judgment, and if then, why not 
afterwards!" 

In another letter, the following excellent remarks occur 
respecting what will engage our thoughts and form part of 
our communications in heaven : — " The common and ordi- 
nary occurrences of life, no doubt, and even the ties of kin- 
dred, and of all temporal interests, will be entirely discarded 
from that happy society, and possibly even the remembrance 
of them done away ; but it does not therefore follow that our 
spiritual concerns, even in this life, will be forgotten, neither 
do I think that they can ever appear trifling to us, in any the 
most distant period of eternity. God will then be all in all ; 
our whole nature, the soul, and all its faculties, will be em- 
ployed in praising and adoring him ; and if so, will it not 



48 THE LIFE OP WILLIAM COWPER. 

furnish us with a theme of thanksgiving, to recollect ' The 
rock whence we were hewn, and the hole of the pit whence 
we were digged V — To recollect the time when our faith, 
which, under the tuition and nurture of the Holy Spirit, has 
produced such a plentiful harvest of immortal bliss, was as a 
grain of mustard-seed, small in itself, promising but little 
fruit, and producing less 1 — to recollect the various attempts 
that were made upon it by the world, the flesh, and the devil, 
and his various triumphs over all, by the assistance of God, 
through our Lord Jesus Christ ■? At present, whatever our 
convictions may be of the sinfulness and corruptions of our 
nature, we can make but a very imperfect estimate either of 
our weakness or our guilt. Then, no doubt, we shall under- 
stand the full value of the wonderful salvation wrought out 
for us by our exalted Redeemer ; and it seems reasonable to 
suppose, that in order to form a just idea of our redemption, 
we shall be able to form a just one of the danger we have 
escaped ; when we know how weak and frail we were, we 
shall be more able to render due praise and honour to his 
strength who fought for us ; when we know completely 
the hatefulness of sin in the sight of God, and how deeply 
we were tainted with it, we shall know how to value the 
blood by which we were cleansed, as we ought." 

In the following letter to the same lady, he says': — "I am 
not sorry that what I have said concerning our kncfwledge of 
each other, in a future state, has a little inclined you to the 
affirmative. For though the redeemed of the Lord will 
be sure of being happy in that state, as infinite power, em- 
ployed by infinite goodness, can make them, and therefore, 
it may seem immaterial, whether we shall, or shall not, re- 
collect each other hereafter ; yet, our present happiness, at 
least, is a little interested in the question. A parent, a friend, 
a wife, must needs, I think, feel a little heart-ache at the 
thought of an eternal separation from the objects of her 
regard : and not to know them when she meets them in an- 
other state, or never to meet them at all, amounts, though not 
altogether, yet nearly to the same thing. Remember and 
recognize them, I have no doubt we shall ; and to believe 
that they are happy will, indeed, be no small addition to our 
own felicity ; but to see them so, will surely be a greater. 
Thus, at least, it appears to our present human apprehension ; 
consequently, therefore, to think, that when we leave them, 
we lose them for ever, and must remain eternally ignorant, 
whether those, who were flesh of our flesh, and bone of our 
bone, partake with us of celestial glory, or are disinherited 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 49 

of their heavenly portion, must shed a dismal gloom over all 
our present connections. For my own part, this life is such 
a momentary thing, and all its interests have so shrunk in 
my estimation, since, by the grace of our Lord Jesus, I be- 
came attentive to the things of another ; that, like a worm in 
the bud of all my friendships and affections, this very thought 
would eat out the heart of them all, had I a thousand ; and 
were their date to terminate in this life, I think I should 
have no inclination to cultivate and improve such a fugitive 
business. Yet friendship is necessary to our happiness here, 
and built upon Christian principles, upon which only it can 
stand, is a thing even of religious sanction — for what is that 
love, which the Holy Spirit speaking by St. John, so much 
inculcates, but friendship 1 The only love which deserves 
the name, is a love which can enable the Christian to toil, 
and watch, and deny himself, and risk, even exposure to 
death, for his brother. Worldly friendships are a poor weed 
compared with this ; and even this union of the spirit in the 
bond of peace, would suffer, in my mind at least, could I 
think it were only coeval with our earthly mansions. It may 
possibly argue great weakness in me, in this instance, to 
stand so much in need of future hopes, to support me in the 
discharge of present dutj^, but so it is. I am far, I know, 
very far, from being perfect in Christian love, or any other 
divine attainment, and am, therefore, unwilling to forego 
whatever may help me on my progress." 

The anxiety of his mind respecting religion, and the pro- 
gress he had made, and was still making in it, will appear 
from the following extract. " You are so kind as to inquire 
after my health, for which reason I must tell j^ou what other- 
wise would not be worth mentioning, that I have lately been 
just enough indisposed to convince me, that not only human 
life in general, but mine in particular, hangs by a slender 
thread. I am stout enough in appearance, 5^61 a little illness 
demolishes me. I have had a serious shake, and the build- 
ing is not so firm as it was. But I bless God for it, with all 
my heart. If the inner man be but strengthened day by day, 
as I hope, under the renewing influences of the Holy Spirit, 
it will be, no matter how soon the outward is dissolved. He 
who has, in a manner, raised me from the dead, in a literal 
sense, has given me the grace, I trust, to be ready, at the 
shortest notice, to surrender up to him that life, which I have 
twice received from him. Whether I live or die, I desire it 
may be to his glory, and then it must be to my happiness. I 
thank God, that I have those amongst my kindred, to whom 
5 



50 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

I can write, without reserve, my sentiments on this subject, 
A letter upon any other subject, is more insipid to me than 
ever my task was, when a school-boy. I say not this in vain- 
glory, God forbid ! but to show v;hat the Almighty, whose 
name I am unworthy to mention, has done for me, the chief 
of sinners. Once he was a terror to me ; and his service, oh, 
what a weariness it was ! Now I can say, I love him, and 
his Holy name, and am never so happy as when I speak of 
his mercies to me." 

To the same correspondent he again writes. " To find 
those whom I love, clearly and strongly persuaded of evan- 
gelical truth, gives me a pleasure superior to any this world 
can afford. Judge then, whether your letter, in which the 
body and substance of saving faith is so evidently set forth, 
could meet with a lukewarm reception at my hands, or be en- 
tertained with indifference ! Do not imagine that I shall ever 
hear from you upon this delightful theme, without real joy, 
or without prayer to God to prosper you in the way of his 
truth. The book you mention, lies now upon my table ; 
IMarshall is an old acquaintance of mine; I have both read 
him, and heard him read with pleasure and edification. The 
doctrines he maintains are, under the influence of the spirit of 
Christ, the very life of my soul, and the soul of all my hap- 
piness. That Jesus is a present Saviour from the guilt of sin, 
by his most precious blood, and from the power of it by his 
Spirit; that, corrupt and wretched in ourselves, in Him, and 
in Him onli/, we are complete ; that being united to Jesus by 
a lively faith, we have a solid and eternal interest in his obe- 
dience and sufferings, lo justify us before the face of our 
Heavenly Father ; and that all this inestimable treasure, the 
earnest of which is in grace, and its consummation in glory, 
is given, freely giveti to us b}"^ God ; in short, that he hath 
freely opened the kingdom of Heaven to all believers,- are 
truths which cannot be disproved, though they have been dis- 
puted. These are the truths, which, by the grace of God, 
shall ever be dearer to me than life itself; shall ever be placed 
next my heart, as the throne, whereon the Saviour himself 
shall sit, to sway all its motions, and reduce that world of 
iniquity and rebellion to a state of filial and affectionate obe- 
dience to the will of the most Holy." 

" These, my dear Cousin, are the truths to which, by na- 
ture, we are enemies ; they debase the sinner, and exalt the 
Saviour, to a degree, which the pride of our hearts, while un- 
subdued by grace, is determined never to allow. May the 
Almighty reveal his Son in our hearts, continually more and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 51 

more, and teach us ever to increase in love towards him for 
having given us the unspeakable riches of Christ." 

In the following letter to the same lady he again writes: — 
" I think Marshall one of the best writers, and the most spi- 
ritual expositors of Scripture I ever read. I admire the strength 
of his argument, and the clearness of his reasonings, upon 
those points of our most holy religion which are generally 
least understood (even by real Christians) as master-pieces 
of the kind. His section upon the union of the soul with 
Christ is an instance of what I mean ; in which he has spoken 
of a most mysterious truth, with admirable perspicuity, and 
with great good sense, making it all the while subservient to 
his main purport, of proving holiness to be the fruit and effect 
of faith. I never met with an author who understood the 
plan of salvation better, or was more happy in explaining 
it." ■ 

That Cowper inspected very closely, and watched very 
narrowly his own heart, will appear by the following extract 
from a letter to the same lady: — " Oh pride ! pride ! it de- 
ceives with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk erect, 
though it crawls upon the earth. How will it twist and twine 
itself about to get from under the cross, which it is the glory 
of our Christian calling to be able to bear with patience and 
good will. Those who can guess at the heart of a stranger, 
and you especially, who are of a compassionate temper, will 
be more ready to excuse me than I can be to excuse myself. 
But, in good truth, I am too frequently guilty of the abomi- 
nable vice. How should such a creature be admitted into 
those pure and sinless mansions where nothing shall enter that 
defileth ; did not the blood of Christ, applied by faith, take 
away the guilt of sin, and leave no spot or stain behind it! 
O what coatinual need have I of an almighty, all-sufhcient 
Saviour ! I am glad you are acquainted so particularly with 
all the circumstances of my story, for I know that your se- 
crecy and discretion may be trusted with anything. A thread 
of mercy ran through all the intricate maze of those afflictive 
providences, so mysterious to myself at the time, and which 
must ever remain so to all who will not see what was the 
great design of them ; at the judgment-seat of Christ the" 
whole shall be laid open. How is the rod of iron changed 
into a sceptre of love!" 

" I have so much cause for humility, and so much need of 
it too, and every little sneaking resentment is such an enemy 
to it, that I hope I shall never give quarter to anything that 
appears la the shape of sullenness or self-consequence here- 



53 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

after. Alas ! if my best friend, who laid down his life for 
me, were to remember all the instances in which I have ne- 
glected him, and to plead them against me in judgment, 
where should I hide my guilty head in the day of recom- 
pense? I will pray therefore for blessings upon my friends 
though they cease to be so, and upon my enemies, though 
they continue such." 

Cowper had now been an inmate with the Unwin family a 
little more than eighteen months ; and the above extracts, 
taken from his confidential letters, describe the happy frame 
of his mind, and the great progress he had made in divine 
knowledge, during this period. Living in the enjoyment of the 
divine presence himself, and associated with those who ex- 
perienced the same invaluable privilege, he tranquilly pur- 
sued the even tenor of his Christian course with undiverted 
attention, and with holy zeal; nor did there appear the. slight- 
est reason to suppose that any alteration was likely to take 
place in his circumstances, or in the circumstances of the 
family. He might fairly have calculated upon the uninter- 
rupted continuance, for many years, of the same distinguish- 
ed privileges ; but the dispensations of Divine Providence are 
sometimes awfully m}'sterious. Events unforeseen, and un- 
expected, are often occurring, which give a bias to our af- 
fairs quite different to any that we had ever conceived. Such 
was the melancholy occurrence which happened in this family, 
about this time, and which, at no distant period, led to Cow- 
per's removal from Huntingdon. 

Mr. Unwin, proceeding to his church, one Sunday morn- 
ing in July, 1767, was flung from his horse, and received a 
dreadful fracture on the back part of his skull, under which 
he languished till the following Thursday, and then died. Cow- 
per, in relating this melancholy event to his cousin, remarks: 
— " This awful dispensation has left an impression upon our 
spirits which will not presently be worn off. May it be a 
lesson to us to watch, since we know not the day, nor the 
hour, when our Lord cometh. At nine o'clock last Sunday 
morning Mr. Unwin was in perfect health, and as likely to 
live twenty years as either of us, and by the following Thurs- 
day he was a corpse. The few short intervals of sense that 
were indulged him, he spent in earnest prayer, and in expres- 
sions of a firm trust and confidence in the only Saviour. To that 
strong-hold we must resort at last, if we would have hope in 
death ; when every other refuge fails, we are glad to fly to the 
only shelter to which we can repair to any purpose ; and hap- 
py is it for us, when the false ground we have chosen for our- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 53 

selves, breaks under us, and we find ourselves obliged to have 
recourse to that Rock which can never be shaken; when this 
is our lot, we receive great and undeserved mercy." 

" The effect of this very distressing event will only be a 
change of my abode ; for I shall still, by God's leave, con- 
tinue with Mrs. Unwin, whose behaviour to me has always 
been that of a mother to a son. We know not yet where we 
shall settle, but we trust that the Lord, whom we seek, will 
go before us, and prepare a rest for us. We have employed 
our friends, Mr. Hawes, Dr. Conyers, and Mr. Newton, to 
look out a place for us, but at present are entirely ignorant 
under which of the three we shall settle, or whether under 
any one of them." 

Just after this melancholy event had occurred, and while 
the family were in the midst of their distress, Mr. Newton, 
then curate of Olney, while on his way home from Cam- 
bridge, providentially called upon Mrs. Unwin. The late 
Dr. Conyers had learned from Mrs. Unwin'sson, the change 
that bad taken place in her mind, on the subject of religion ; 
and he accordingly requested Mr. Newton to embrace the 
earliest opportunity of having some conversation with her on 
the subject. His visit could not possibly have been made at 
a more seasonable juncture. Mrs. Unwin was now almost 
overwhelmed with sorrow; and though the strength of her 
Christian principles, preserved her from losing that confi- 
dence in the Almighty, which can alone support the mind 
under such distressing circumstances, yet, both she and Mr. 
Cowper, stood in need of some judicious Christian friend, to 
administer to them the consolations of the gospel. Their 
Heavenly Father could not have sent them one more capable 
of binding up their wounds, and soothing their sorrow, than 
Mr. Newton. He knew when, instrumentally, to ponr the 
oil of consolation into their wounded spirits ; and his provi- 
dential visit, proved as useful as it was seasonable. He in- 
vited them to fix their future abode at Olney, whither they 
repaired, in the following October, to a house he had provid- 
ed for them, so near the vicarage in which he lived, that by 
opening a door in the garden wall, they could exchange mu- 
tual visits, without entering the street. Mrs. Unwin kept the 
house, and Cowper continued to board with her, as he had 
done during lier husband's life. 
5* 



( 54 ) 



CHAPTER VI. 



Commencement of Cowper^s intimacy with Mr. Newton— Plea- 
sure it afforded him— His charitable disposition — Means pro- 
vided for its indulgence, by the munificence of the late J, 
Thornton, Esq. — Mr. Thornton'' s death — Coivper^s poetic tri^ 
bute to his memory — Remarks on the insufficiency of earthly 
objects to afford peace to the mind — His great anxiety for the 
spiritual welfare of his correspondents — Consolatory remarks 
addressed to his cousin — Severe affliction of his brother — Cow- 
per''s great concern on his behalf — Happy change that takes 
place in his brother^s scjitiments on religious subjects— His 
death — Cowper^s reflections on it — Deep impression it made 
upon his inind — Bescription of his hrother''s character — En- 
gages with Mr^ Newton to write the Olney Hymns — Marriage 
of Mr. Unwin''s son and daughter — Cowper^s severe indispO" 
sition. 

Great as were the advantages enjoyed by Cowper, while 
inmated with the Unwin family at Huntingdon, they were 
not to be compared with those which he experienced in his 
new situation at Olney. He spent his time nearly in the 
same manner as at Huntingdon, having the additional advan- 
tage of frequent religious intercourse with his friend, Mr. 
Newton, with whom he was now upon terms of the closest 
intimacy. The amiable manners, and exemplary piety of 
Cowper, greatly endeared him to all with whom he was ac- 
quainted. He gladly availed himself of the benefits of reli- 
gious conversation with the pious persons in Mr. Newton's 
congregation, and was particularly attentive to those among 
them, who were in circumstances of poverty. He regularly 
visited the sick, and, to the utmost extent of his power, af- 
forded them relief. He attended the social meetings for 
prayer established by Mr. Newton ; and at such seasons, 
when he was occasionally required to conduct the service, 
agitated as were his feelings before he commenced, he no 
sooner began, thg,n he poured forth his heart unto God in ear- 
nest intercession, with a devotion equally simple, sublime, 
and fervent, affording to all who were present on these occa- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 55 

sions proofs of the unusual combination of elevated genius, 
exquisite sensibility, and profound piety, by which lie was 
pre-eminently distinguished. His conduct in private was 
consistent with the solemnity and fervor of these social devo- 
tional engagements. Three times a day he prayed, and gave 
thanks unto God, in retirement, besides the regular practice 
of domestic worship. His familiar acquaintance with, and 
experimental knowledge of the gospel, relieved him from 
all terror and anxiety of mind ; his soul was stayed upon 
God ; the divine promise and faithfulness were his support ; 
and he lived in the enjoyment of perfect peace. 

His hymns, most of which were composed at this period, 
prove that he was no stranger to those corrupt dispositions, 
which the best of men have to bewail, and which have so 
strong a tendency to draw away the mind from God. Against 
these dispositions, however, he was constantly upon the 
watch, and by the cultivation of devotional habits, with the 
gracious aid of the Divine Spirit, he suppressed every irre- 
gular desire, restrained every corrupt inclination, and ulti- 
mately came off successful in his spiritual warfare. 

The first few years of his residence at Olney, may, perhaps, 
be regarded as the happiest of his life. Associated intimate- 
ly with his beloved friend, Mr. Newton, and availing himself 
of his valuable assistance, in his efforts to acquire divine 
knowledge, his heart became established in the truth, and he 
experienced that degree of confidence in God, which alone 
can insure peace of mind, and real tranquillity. Aware of 
the pleasure which he took in visiting the poor, in his neigh- 
bourhood, and contributing to their relief, Mr. Newton pro- 
cured for him, a liberal annual allowance of cash, for the pur- 
pose of distribution, from the late excellent John Thornton, 
Esq. It is almost needless to add, that becoming the almo- 
ner of this distinguished philanthropist, was to Cowper a 
source of the greatest enjoyment. No individual was ever 
more alive to the cry of distress ; he seemed, indeed, to pos- 
sess almost an excess of this amiable sensibility. Nothing 
gladdened his heart more than to be the means of drying up 
the widow's tears, and assuaging the orphan's grief; which 
the liberality of this great philanthropist allowed him often 
to accomplish. The decease of Mr. Thornton took place in 
1790, and Cowper has immortalized his memory, by the fol- 
lowing beautiful and sublime eulogy: — 

"Thee, Thornton, worthy in some page to sliine 
As honest, and more eloquent than mine, 



56 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

I mourn ; or, since thrice happy thou must be, 
The world, no longer th)^ abode, not thee : 
Thee to deplore were grief mis-spent indeed ; 
It were to weep, that goodness has its meed, 
That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky. 
And glory for the virtuous when they die. 

What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard. 
Or spendthi-ift's prodigal excess afford. 
Sweet as the privilege of healing woe. 
Suffered by virtue, combating below. 
That privilege was thine ; Heaven gave thee means 
To illumine with delight the saddest scenes, 
Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn 
As midnight, and despairing of a morn. 
Thou had'st an industry in doing good. 
Restless as liis who toils and sweats for food; 
Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth. 
By rust unpei-ishable, or by stealth ; 
And if the genuine worth of gold depend 
On application to its noblest end, 
Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven, 
Surpassing all that mine or mint has given; 
And though God made thee of a nature prone 
To distribution, boundless, of thy own. 
And still, by motives of religious force, 
Impelled thee more to that heroic coui'se, 
Yet was thy libe4'a]ity discreet, 
Nice in its choice, and of a temperate heat; 
And, though an act unwearied, secret still 
As, in some solitude, the summer rill 
Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green. 
And cheers the drooping flowei-s, unheard, unseen. 
Such was thy charity; no sudden start. 
After long sleep, of passion in the heart; 
But steadfast principle, and in its kind 
Of close alliance with the eternal mind. 
Traced easily to its true source above. 
To Him whose works bespeak his nature, love. 
Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make 
This record of thee for the gospel's sake. 
That the incredulous themselves may see 
Its use and power exemplified in thee." 

Owing to some cause, for which we are unable to account, 
Cowper's correspondence with his friends became much less 
frequent after his settlement at Olney, than it had been for- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 57 

merly: probably it might be attributed, in some degree at 
least, to his close intimacy with Mr. Newton, for they were 
seldom seven waking hours, apart from each other. The 
same vein of genuine and unaffected piety, however, runs 
through those letters which he did write, and they abound 
with remarks of uncommon excellence. To his cousin, Mrs. 
Cowper, he thus expresses his feelings : — " You live in the 
centre of a world, I know you do not delight in. Happy are 
you, my dear friend, in being able to discern the insufficiency 
of all it can afford, to fill and satisfy the desires of an immor- 
tal soul. That God, who created us for the enjoyment of 
himself, has determined in mercy that it shall fail us here, in 
order that the blessed result of all our inquiries after happi- 
ness in the creature, may be a warm pursuit, and a close at- 
tachment to our true interests, in fellowship with him, 
through the mediation of our dear Redeemer. I bless his 
goodness, and his grace, that I have any reason to hope I am 
a partaker with you in the desire after better things, than are 
to be found in a world polluted by sin, and therefore, devoted 
to destruction. May he enable us both to consider our pre- 
sent life in its only true light, as an opportunity put into our 
hands to glorify him amongst men, by a conduct suited to his 
word and will. I am miserably defective in this holy and 
blessed art, but I hope there is, at the bottom of all my sinful 
infirmities, a desire to live just so long as I may be enabled 
to answer, in some measure, at least, the end of my exist- 
ence, in this respect ; and then to obey the summons, and 
attend him in a world, where they who are his servants here, 
shall pay him an unsinful obedience for ever." 

The lively interest which Cowper took, in the spiritual 
welfare of his correspondents, will appear in the following 
letter to his esteemed friend, Joseph Hill, Esq., dated 21st 
January, 1769 : — "Dear Joe: I rejoice with you in your re- 
covery, and that you have escaped from the hands of one, 
from whose hands you will not always escape. Death is 
either the most formidable, or most comfortable thing, we 
have in prospect, on this side of eternity. To be brought 
near to him, and to discern neither of these features in his 
face, would argue a degree of insensibility, of which I will 
not suspect my friend, whom I know to be a thinking man. 
You have been brought down to the sides of the grave, and 
you have been raised up again by him, who has the keys of 
the invisible world ; who opens, and none can shut, who 
shuts and none can open. I do not forget to return thanks to 
him on your behalf, and to pray that your life, which he has 



58 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

spared, may be devoted to his service. ' Behold ! I stand at 
the door, and knock,' is the word of him, in whom both our 
mortal and immortal life depend, and blessed be his name ; 
it is the word of one who wounds only that he may heal, and 
who waits to be gracious. The language of every such dis- 
pensation is, ' Prepare to meet thy God.' It speaks with the 
voice of mercy and goodness, for without such notices, what- 
ever preparation we might make for other events, we should 
make none for this. My dear friend, I desire and pray, that 
when this last enemy sliall come to execute an unUmited com- 
mission on us, we may be found ready, being established 
and rooted in a well-grounded faith in his name who con- 
quered death, and triumphed over him on the cross. If I am 
ever enabled to look forward to death with comfort, which I 
thank God is sometimes the case, I do not take m)'^ view of 
it from the top of my own works and deservings, though 
God is witness, that the labour of my life is to keep a con- 
science void of offence towards him. Death is always for- 
midable to me, but when I see him disarmed of his sting by 
having it sheathed in the body of Christ Jesus." 

To the same friend, on another occasion, he thus writes : — 
" I take a friend's share in all your concerns, so far as they 
come to my knowledge, and consequently, did not receive 
the news of your marriage with indilFerence. I wish you 
and your bride all the happiness that belong-s to the state ; 
and the still greater felicity of that state, which marriage is 
only a type of. All those connections shall be dissolved ; 
but there is an indissoluble bond between Christ and his 
church, the subject of derision to an unthinking world, but 
the glory and happiness of all his people." 

No one knew better how to administer consolation to those 
who were in distress, and certainly no one ever took a greater 
delight in doing it than Cowper. To his amiable cousin, 
Mrs. Cowper, who had been called to sustain a severe do- 
mestic affliction, he writes as follows: — " A letter from your 
brother, brought me yesterday, the most afflicting intelligence 
that has reached me these many years, I pray God to com- 
fort you, and to enable you to sustain this heavy stroke with 
that resignation to his will, which none but himself can give, 
and which he gives to none but his own children. How 
blessed and happy is your lot, my dear friend, beyond the 
lot of the greater part of mankind : that you know what it is 
to draw near to God in prayer, and are acquainted with a 
throne of grace ! You have resources in the infinite love of 
a dear Redeemer, which are withheld from millions : and the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 59 

promises of God, which are, yea and amen in Christ Jesus, 
are sufficient to answer all your necessities, and to sweeten 
the bitterest cup which your Heavenly Father will ever put 
into your hand. May he now give you liberty to drink at 
these wells of salvation till you are filled with consolation 
and peace, in the midst of trouble. He has said, When thou 
passest through the fire, I will be with thee, and when 
through the floods, they shall not overflow thee. You have 
need of such a word as this, and he knows your need of it ; 
and the time of necessity is the time when he will be sure to 
appear in behalf of those who trust in him. I bear you and 
yours upon my heart before him, night and day. For I never 
expect to hear of distress, which shall call upon me with a 
louder voice to pray for the sufferer. I know the Lord hears 
me for myself, vile and sinful as I am, and believe, and am 
sure, that he will hear me for you also. He is the friend of 
the widow, and the father of the fatherless, even God in his 
holy habitation ; in all our afflictions he is afflicted ; and when 
he chastens us, it is in mercy. Surely he will sanctify this 
dispensation to you, do you great and everlasting good by it, 
make the world appear like dust and vanity in your sight, as 
it truly is, and open to your view the glories of a better 
country, where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, 
nor pain ; but God shall wipe away all tears from youi eyes 
for ever. O that comfortable word ! ' I have chosen thee 
in the furnace of affliction ;' so that our very sorrows are evi- 
dences of our calling, and he chastens us because we are his 
children. My dear cousin, I commit you to the word of his 
grace, and to the comforts of his Holy Spirit. Your life is 
needful for your family ; may God, in mercy to them, pro- 
long it, and may he preserve you from the dangerous effects 
which a stroke like this might have upon a frame so tender 
as yours. I grieve for you, I pray for you, could I do more 
I would, but God must comfort you." 

Cowper had scarcely forwarded this consolatory and truly 
Christian letter, when he was himself visited with a trial so 
severe as to call into exercise all that confidence in the Al- 
mighty which he had endeavoured to excite in the mind of 
his amiable relative. He received a letter from his brother, 
then residing as a Fellow in Bene't College, Cambridge, be- 
tween whom and himself there had always existed an affec- 
tion truly fraternal, stating that he was seriously indisposed. 
No brothers were ever more warmly interested in each other's 
welfare. At the commencement of Cowper's affliction, which 
led to his removal to St. Albans, his brother had watched 



60 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

over him with the tenderest solicitude ; and it was doubtless 
owing, in a great degree, to this tenderness, that Cowper 
was placed under the care of Dr. Cotton. While he remain- 
ed at St. Albans, his brother visited him, and, as has been 
related above, became the means of contributing materially 
to his recovery. On Cowper's removal to Huntingdon, these 
affectionate brothers adopted a plan for a frequent and regu- 
lar interchange of visits, so that they were seldom many days 
without seeing each other, though the distance between their 
places of abode was fifteen miles ; and, even after Cowper's 
removal to Olney, his brother, during the first two years, 
paid him several visits ; they seemed, indeed, mutually de- 
lighted with an opportunity of being in each other's com- 
pany. 

Cowper, on hearing of his brother's illness, immediately 
repaired to Cambridge. To his inexpressible grief he found 
him in a condition that left little or no hopes of his recovery. 
In a letter to Mrs. CoAvper, he thus describes his case :— 
" My brother continues much as he was. His case is a very 
dangerous one — an imposthume of the liver, attended by an 
asthma, and dropsy. The physician has little hopes of his 
recovery; indeed, I might say none at all, only, being a 
friend, he does not formally give him over by ceasing to visit 
him, lest it should sink his spirits. For my own part, I have 
no expectation of it, except by a signal interposition of Pro- 
vidence in answer to prayer. His case is clearly out of the 
reach of medicine, but I have seen many a sickness healed, 
where the danger has been equally threatening, by the only 
Physician of value. I doubt not he will have an interest in 
your prayers, as he has in the prayers of many. IMay the 
Lord incline his ear, and give an answer of peace. I know 
it is good to be afflicted; I trust you have found it so, and 
that under the teaching of the Spirit of God, we shall both be 
purified. It is the desire of my soul to seek a better country, 
where God shall wipe away all tears from the eyes of his 
people, and where, looking back upon the ways by which he 
has led us, we shall hp filled with everlasting wonder, love, 
and praise." 

Finding his brother on the verge of the grave, Cowper dis- 
covered the greatest anxiety respecting his everlasting wel- 
fare. He knew that his sentiments on some of the most im- 
portant truths of religion had been long unsettled ; and fully 
aware that while such was the case, he could experience no 
solid enjoyment in the present life, whatever might be his 
condition in future, he laboured diligently to give him those 



i 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 61 

views of the gospel, which he had himself found, so singu- 
larly beneficial ; nor did he labour in vain. He had the un- 
speakable gratification to Avitness the complete triumph of the 
truth, and its consolatory influence upon the mind of his 
beloved brother, in his dying moments. Writing to Mr. Hill, 
he says: — " It pleased God to cut short my brother's connec- 
tions and expectations here, yet, not without giving him 
lively and glorious views, of a better haawness, than any he 
could propose to himself in such a worlo'^^this. Notwith- 
standing his great learning, (for he was ^one of the chief 
men in the university in that respect,) he was candid and 
sincere in his inquiries after truth. Though he could not 
agree to my sentiments when I first acquainted him with 
them, nor in many conversations, which I afterwards had 
with him upon the subject, could he be brought to acquiesce 
in them as scriptural and true, yet I had no sooner left St. 
Albans, than he began to study with the deepest attention 
those points on which we differed, and to furnish himself 
with the best writers upon them. His mind was kept open 
to conviction for five years, during all which time he labour- 
ed in this pursuit with unwearied diligence, whilst leisure 
and opportunity were afforded. Amongst his dying words 
were these : — ' Brother, I thought you wrong, yet wanted to 
believe as you did. I found myself not able to believe, 
yet always thought I should be one day brought to do so.' 
From the study of books he was brought, upon his death- 
bed, to the study of himself, and there learnt to renounce his 
righteousness, and his own most amiable character, and to 
submit himself to the righteousness which is of God by faith. 
With these views, he was desirous of death : satisfied of his 
interest in the blessing purchased by the blood of Christ, he 
prayed for death with earnestness, felt the approaches of it 
with joy, and died in peace." 

It afforded Cowper inexpressible delight, to witness, in 
his brother's case, the consoling and animating power of 
those principles, which he had himself found to be so highly 
beneficial. This had been the object of his most anxious 
solicitude, from the period that God was pleased to visit 
him with the consolations of his grace. From that time he 
took occasion to declare to his brother what God had done 
for his soul ; and neglected no opportunity of attempting to 
engage him in conversation of a spiritual kind. On his first 
visit to him at Cambridge, after he left St. Albans, his heart 
being then full of the subject, he poured it out to his brother 
without reserve, taking care to show him, that what he had 
6 



62 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

received was not merely a new set of notions, but a real im- 
pression of the truths of the gospel. His brother listened to 
his statements at first with some attention, and often labour- 
ed to convince him, that the difference in their sentiments 
was much less real than verbal. Subsequently, however, 
he became more reserved ; and though he heard patiently, he 
never replied, nor ever discovered a desire to converse on the 
subject. At the commencement of his affliction, little as was 
the concern he then felt for his spiritual interests, the thoughts 
of God, and of eternity, would sometimes force themselves 
upon his mind ; at every little prospect of recovery, however, 
he found it no difficult matter to thrust them out again. It 
w,as evident that his mind was very far from being set on 
things spiritual and heavenly, as on almost every subject, 
but that of religion, he could converse fluently. At every 
suitable opportunity Cowper endeavoured to give a serious 
turn to the discourse, but without any apparent success. 
Having obtained his permission, he prayed with him fre- 
quently ; still, however, he seemed as careless and uncon- 
cerned as ever. 

On one occasion, after his brother had, with much diffi- 
culty, survived a severe paroxysm of his disorder, he observ- 
ed to him as he sat by his bed-side, " that, though it had 
pleased God to visit him with great afflictions, yet mercy 
was mingled with the dispensation. You have many friends 
that love you, and are willing to do all they can to serve you, 
and 60, perhaps, have many others in the like circumstances; 
but it is not the lot of every sick man, how much soever he 
may be beloved, to have a friend that can pray for him." He 
replied, " That is true ; and I hope God will have mercy 
upon me." His love to Cowper, from that time, became very 
remarkable ; there was a tenderness in it more than was 
merely natural ; and he generally expressed it by calling for 
blessings upon him in the most affectionate terms, and with 
a look and manner not to be described. One afternoon, a 
few days before he died, he suddenly burst into tears, and 
said, with a loud cry, " O forsake me not!" Cowper went 
to the bed-side, grasped his hand, and tenderly inquired why 
he wished him to remain. " O, brother," said he, " I am 
full of what I could say to you ; if I live, you and I shall be 
more like one another than we have been ; but, whether I 
live, or not, all is well, and will be so ; I know it will ; I 
have felt that which I never felt before ; and am sure that 
God has visited me with this sickness, to teach me that I 
was too proud to learn in health. I never had satisfaction 



II 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 63 

till now, having no ground to rest my hopes upon ; but now 
I have a foundation wliich nothing can shake. I have peace 
in myself ; and if I live, I hope it will be that I might be a 
messenger of peace to others. I have learned that in a mo- 
ment, which I could not have learned by reading many books 
for many years. The light I have received comes late, but 
not too late, and it is a comfort to me that I never made the 
gospel-truths a subject of ridicule. This bed would be to 
me a bed of misery, and it is so ; but it is likewise a bed of 
joy, and a bed of discipline. Was I to die this night, I know 
I should be happy. This assurance, I hope, is quite con- 
sistent with the word of God. It is built upon a sense of 
my own utter insufficiency, and all-sufficiency of Christ. 
There is but one key to the New Testament ; there is but 
one interpreter. I cannot describe to you, nor shall I ever be 
able to describe to you, what I felt when this was given to 
me. May I make a good use of it ! How I shudder when 
I think of the danger I have just escaped ! How wonderful 
is it that God should look upon me ! Yet he sees me, and 
takes notice of all that I suffer. I see him too, and can hear 
him say, Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy 
laden, and I will give you peace." He survived this change 
only a few days, and died happily, rejoicing in hope of the 
glory of God. 

An event like this, could not fail to make a deep impres- 
sion upon the tender spirit of Cowper, and his feelings on the 
occasion, were such as are not experienced by ordinary minds. 
The following letter to his amiable cousin shows clearly the 
state of his mind: — "You judge rightly of the manner in 
which I have been affected by the Lord's late dispensation 
towards my brother. I found it a cause of sorrow that I lost 
so near a relation, and one so deservedly dear to me, and that 
he left me just when our sentiments upon the most interest- 
ing subject became the same. But it was also a cause of 
joy, that it pleased God to give me a clear and evident proof 
that he had changed his heart, and adopted him into the num- 
ber of his children. For this I hold myself peculiarly bound 
to thank him, because he might have done all that he was 
pleased to do for him, and yet have afforded him neither 
strength nor opportunity to declare it. He told me, that 
from the time he was first ordained, he began to be dissatis- 
fied witli his religious opinions, and to suspect that there 
were greater things revealed in the Bible, than were general- 
ly believed or allowed to be there. From the time when I 
first visited him, after my release from St. Albans, he began 



64 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 

to read upon the subject. It was at that time I informed him 
of the views of divine truth, which I had received in that 
school of affliction. He laid what I said to heart, and began 
to furnish himself with the best writers on the controverted 
points, whose works he read with great diligence and atten- 
tion, carefully comparing them with the Scriptures. None 
ever truly and ingenuously sought the truth, but they found it. 
A spirit of earnest inquiry is the gift of God, who never says 
to any, Seek ye my face, in vain. Accordingly, about ten 
days before his death, it pleased the Lord to dispel all his 
doubts, to reveal in his heart the knowledge of the Saviour, 
and to give him that firm and unshaken confidence in the abi- 
lity and willingness of Christ to save sinners, which is 
invariably followed by a joy that is unspeakable and full of 
glory." 

Of the character of his much beloved brother, whose death 
filled him with mingled emotions of joy and grief, Cowper 
has given the following interesting description : — "He was a 
man of a most candid and ingenuous spirit ; his temper re- 
markablj^ sweet, and in his behaviour to me he had always 
manifested an uncommon affection. His outward conduct, 
so far as it fell under my notice, or I could learn it by the re- 
port of others, was perfectly decent and unblamable. There 
was nothing vicious in any part of his practice, but being of 
a studious, thoughtful turn, he placed his chief delight in the 
acquisition of learning, and made such progress in it, that he 
had but few rivals. He was critically skilled in the Latin, 
Greek, and Hebrew languages ; was beginning to make him- 
self master of the Syriac, and perfectly understood the French 
and Italian, the latter of which he could speak fluently. 
Learned, however, as he was, he was easy and cheerful in 
his conversation, and entirely free from the stiffness which 
is generally contracted by men devoted to such pursuits." 

. . . "I had a brother once; 
Peace to the memory of a man of worth ! 
A man of letters and of manners too! 
Of manners, sweet, as virtue always wears, 
When gay g"ood humour dresses her in smiles! 
He grac'd a colleg'e, in which order yet 
Was sacred, and was lionourcd, }ov'd, and wept 
By more than one, themselves co'hspicuous there." 

Notwithstanding the cheerfulness with which Cowper 
bore up under this painful bereavement, when it first occur- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 65 

red, owing to the happy circumstances related above, with 
which it was attended, yet there is reason to believe that it 
made an impression upon his peculiarly sensitive mind, more 
deep than visible; and that was not soon to be effaced. It 
unquestionably diminished his attachment to the world, and 
made him less unwilling to leave it. Writing to his friend, 
Mr. Hill, at this time, he says : — "I have not done convers- 
ing with terrestrial objects, though I should be happy Avere 
I able to. hold more continual converse with a friend above 
the skies. He has my heart, but he allows a corner of it for 
all'who show me kindness, and therefore one for you. The 
storm of 1763, made a wreck of the friendships I had con- 
tracted, in the course of many years, yours only excepted, 
which has survived the tempest." 

It appears not improbable that his friend, Mr. Newton, 
might have witnessed, in the morbid tendency of his mind to 
melancholy, of which he then discovered symptoms, some 
traces of the deep and extensive wound which his mind had 
received by this event, though his efforts to conceal it were 
incessant. Hence, he wisely engaged him in a literary un- 
dertaking, congenial to his taste, suited to his admirable ta- 
lents, and, perhaps, more adapted to alleviate his distress 
than any other that could have been selected. Mr. Newton 
had felt the want of a volume of evangelical hymns, on ex- 
perimental subjects, suited for public and private worship ; 
he mentioned the subject to Cowper, and pressed him to un- 
dertake it, and the result was, a friendly compact to supply 
the volume between them, with an understanding that Cow- 
per was to be the principal composer. He entered upon this 
work with great pleasure ; and though he does not appear 
previous to this, to have employed his poetical talents for a 
considerable time, yet the admirable hymns he composed, 
show with what ease he could write upon the doctrinal, ex- 
perimental, or practical parts of Christianity. One of our 
best living poets, whose writings more frequently remind us 
of Cowper's than any we have ever read, in an essay on the 
poet's productions, remarks : — " Of these hymns, it must suf- 
fice to say, that, like all his best compositions, they are prin- 
cipally communings with his own heart, or avowals of per- 
sonal Chfistian experience. As such they are frequently ap- 
plicable to every believer's feelings, and touch, unexpected- 
ly, the most secret springs of joy and sorrow, faith, fear, 
hope, love, trial, despondency, and triumph. Some allude to 
infirmities, the most difficult to be described, but often the 
source of excruciating anguish to the tender conscience. The 
6* 



66 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

72d hymn, Book I. is written with the confidence of inspira- 
tion, and the authority of a prophet. The 96th hymn, of the 
same book, is a perfect allegory in miniature, without a fail- 
ing point, or confusion of metaphor, from beginning to end. 
Hymn 51, Book III. presents a transformation, which, if 
found in Ovid, might have been extolled as the happiest of 
his fictions. Hymn 12, Book H. closes with one of the har- 
diest figures to be met with out of the Hebrew Scriptures. 
None but a poet of the highest order could have written it; 
verses cannot go beyond it, and painting cannot approach it. 
Hj^mn 38, Book H. is a strain of noble simplicity, expressive 
of confidence the most remote from presumption, and such 
as a heart at peace, with God alone could enjoy and utter. 
Who can read the 55th hymn, Book H. without feeling as if 
he could, at that moment, forsake all, take up his cross, and 
follow his Saviour 1 The 19th Hymn, Book HI. is a model 
of tender pleading, of believing, persevering prayer in trou- 
ble ; and the folloviring one is a brief parody of Bunyan's 
finest passage, and is admirable of its kind. The reader 
might almost imagine himself Christian on his pilgrimage, 
the triumph and the trance are brought so home to his bosom. 
Hymn 15, of the same book, is a lyric of high tone and cha- 
racter, and rendered awfully interesting, by the circumstan- 
ces under which it was written — in the twilight of departing 
reason."* 

The benevolent heart of Cowper was delighted in a high 
degree to co-operate with a man of Mr. Newton's talents and 
piety, in promoting the advancement of religion in his neigh- 
bourhood. It is deeply to be regretted, that when he had 
onl)"^ composed sixty-eight hymns, all of which were uncom- 
monly excellent, and were afterwards published by Mr. New- 
ton in the Olney Collection, he was laid aside from the in- 
teresting employment by serious indisposition. It pleased 
God, for reasons inscrutable to us, and which it would be 
impious to arraign, to visit the afflicted poet, with a renewed 
attack of his former hypochondriacal complaint, more pro- 
tracted, and not less violent, than the one he had before ex- 
perienced. Just on the eve of the attack he commenced the 
following sublime hymn : — 

" God moves in a mysterious way, 
His wonders to perform ; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea. 
And rides upon the storm. 

* Essay on Cowper's Productions, by James Montgomery. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 67 



Deep in unfathomable mines 
Of never fiiiling skill 
He treasures up his bright designs. 
And works his sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ! 
The clouds ye so much dread 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 
In blessings on your head. 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. 
But trust him for his grace ; 
Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes all ripen fast, 
Unfolding every hour; 
The bud may have a bitter taste. 
But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
And scan His work in vain; 
God is his own interpreter, 
And he will make it plain." 



( 68 ) 



CHAPTER VII. 



Great severity of Cowper's mental depression — His presentiment 
of it — Its consequences — Remarks upon its probable cause-^ 
Absurdity of attributing it, in any degree, to religion — Mrs, 
Unwinds great attention to kirn — His aversion to the company 
of strangers — Symptoms of his recovery — Domesticates three 
leverets — Amusement they afford him — Mr. Newton's remo- 
val from Olney — Tntrodaction of Mr. Bull to Coivper — His 
translation of Madame de la Guyoti's poems, at Mr. Bull's 
request — Commences his original productions, at the sugges- 
tion of Mrs. Vhivin — Renews his correspondence with Mr. and 
Mrs. Newton — Describes the state of his mind. 

We are again arrived at another of those melancholy pe- 
riods of Cowper's life, over which it must be alike the duty 
of the biographer, and the wish of the reader, to cast a veil. 
Mental aberration, whoever may be the subject of it, excites 
the tenderest commisseration of all ; but if there be a time 
when it may be contemplated with emotions more truly dis- 
tressing than another, it is when it attacks those who are en- 
dowed with talents the most brilliant, with dispositions the 
most amiable, and with piety the most ardent and unobtrusive. 
Such was eminently the case in the present instance. To 
see a mind like Cowper's, enveloped in the thickest gloom 
of despondency, and for several years, in the prime of life, 
remaining in a state of complete .inacti\'ity and misery, must 
have been distressing in no ordinary degree. 

A short time previous to the afflictive visitation, Cowper 
appears to have received some presentiment of its approach, 
and during a solitary walk in the fields, as was hinted above, 
he composed that beautiful hymn in the Olney collection with 
which we closed our last chapter. On this occasion, acute 
as may have been his feelings, he must have experienced an 
unshaken confidence in God; for it is scarcely possible to 
read this admirable production, however dark and distressing 
the dispensations of Divine Providence towards us may be, 
without enjoying the same delightful emotions. About the 
same time, he composed the hymn, entitled 'Temptation,' 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 69 

the following lines from which will show how powerfully his 
mind was then exercised. 

*« The billows swell, the winds are high, 
Clouds overcast my wintry sky; 
Out of the depths to thee I call. 
My fears are great, my strength is small. 

O Lord, the pilot's part perform. 
And g-uide and guard me through the storm; 
Defend me from each threatening ill, 
Control the waves, say 'Peace, be still.' 

Amidst the roaring of the sea. 
My soul still hangs her hope on thee; 
Thy constant love, thy faithful care. 
Is all that saves me from despair." 

He now relapsed into a state, very much resembling that 
which had previously occasioned his removal to St. Albans. 
This second attack occurred in 1773; he remained in the 
same painful and melancholy condition, without even a sin- 
gle alleviation of his sufferings, for the proti-acted period of 
five years ; and it was five years more, before he wholly re- 
covered the use of his admirable powers. His mind, which 
could formerly soar on the wings of faith and love, to the ut- 
most limits of Christian knowledge and enjoyment, now sunk 
into the lowest depths of depression ; and here seemed as if 
it would remain immovably fiised : rejecting, with deplora- 
ble firmness, every species of consolation that was attempted 
to be administered. 

Various causes have been assigned, by different writers, 
for the melancholy aberration of mind of which Cowper was 
now, and at other seasons of his life, the subject; but none 
are so irreconcilable to everything like just and legitimate 
reasoning, as the attempt to ascribe it to religion. That un- 
just views of the character of God, and of the nature of the 
gospel, may never have been the predisposing causes of great 
and severe mental depression, we are hot disposed to deny ; 
though we think this a case of very rare occurrence, and one 
in which the subject of it must be in a state of great igno- 
rance respecting the fundamental truths of religion. Ought 
this, however, when it does happen, to be identified with re- 
ligion, of which, at the best, it can only be regarded as a 
mere caricature 1 There was evidently, in the case of Cow- 



70 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

per, nothing- that bore the slightest resemblance to this. 
Making some allowances for expressions occasionally em- 
ployed by him peculiar to the system which he had em- 
braced, perhaps it will not be saying too much to affirm, that 
no individual ever entertained more scriptural views of the 
gospel dispensation in all its parts, and of the perfections 
and attributes of its great Author, than this excellent man. 
The letters he Avrote to his correspondents, and the hymns he 
composed, prior to this second attack, prove unquestionably 
that his views of religion were at the remotest distance from 
what can be termed visionary or enthusiastic : on the contra- 
ry, they were perfectly scriptural and evangelical, and were 
consequently, infinitely more adapted to support, than to de- 
press his mind. 

The living poet whom we have before quoted, remarks : 
— " With regard to Cowper's malady, there scarcely needs 
any other proof that it was not occasioned by his religion 
than this, that the error on which he stumbled was in direct 
contradiction to his creed. He believed that he had been 
predestinated to life, yet under his delusion imagined that 
God, who cannot lie, repent, or change, had, in his sole in- 
stance, and in one moment, reversed his own decree, which 
had been in force from all eternity. At the same time, by a 
perversion of the purest principles of Christian obedience, he 
was so submissive to what he erroneously supposed was the 
will of God, that, to have saved himself from the very de- 
struction which he dreaded, he would not avail himself of 
any of the means of grace, even presuming they might have 
been efficacious, because he believed they were forbidden to 
him. Yet, in spite of the self-evident impossibility, of his 
faith, affecting a sound mind, with such a hallucination ; 
though a mind previously diseased, might as readily fall into 
that as the other ; in spite of chronology, his first aberration 
having taken place before he had ' tasted the good word of 
God ;' in spite of geography, that calamity having befallen 
him in London, where he had no acquaintance with persons 
holding the reprobated doctsines of election and sovereign 
grace ; and in spite of fact, utterly undeniable, that the only 
effectual consolations which he experienced under his first or 
subsequent attacks of depression, arose from the truths of 
the gospel; — in spite of all these unanswerable confutations 
of 'the ignorant and malignant falsehood, the enemies of 
Christian truth persevere in repeating, ' that too much reli- 
gion made poor Cowper mad.' If they be sincere, they are 
themselves under the strongest delusion; and it will be well. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 71 

if it prove not, on their part, a wilful one — it will be well, if 
they have not reached that last perversity of human reason, 
to believe a falsehood of their own invention." 

The remarks of Mr. Hayley, in his admirable life of the 
poet, page 144, vol. 1. are, we think, liable to some objec- 
tion. He says — " So fearfully and wonderfully are we made, 
that man in all conditions ought, perhaps, to pray that he 
never may be led to think of his Creator and of his Redeemer, 
either too little or too much, since human misery is often 
seen to arise equally, from an utter neglect of all spiritual 
concerns, and from a wild extravagance of devotion." 

It is surely needless to observe, that the devotion of Cow- 
per was as much unlike what could, with any degi-ee of pro- 
priety, be termed wild or extravagant, as can well be ima- 
gined. To what description of devotion Mr. Hayley would 
apply these epithets we cannot tell, but surely not to that 
which is scripturally evangelical, which was eminently the 
character of Cowper's, and which is of a nature so heaven- 
ly and spiritual, so perfectly adapted to the circumstances 
of mankind, and withal so soothing and consoling, that it 
can never be carried to excess. The more powerfully its 
influence is felt upon the mind, the more extensive must be 
the enjoyment it produces, unless when it pleases God, as in 
the case of Cowper, to disorganize the mental powers, and 
thereby unfit it for the reception of that comfort which it 
would otherwise experience. 

Mental disorganization may undoubtedly arise from an al- 
most infinite variety of causes, many of which, as in the 
poet's case, must for ever elude our search, though they are 
all under the control of that God who is the giver of life 
and its preserver. Real religion, however, which consists in 
a cordial reception of the truth in the heart, can never pro- 
duce it in the remotest degree : evangelical devotion cannot 
be too intense, nor can we know too much of our Creator and 
Redeemer. Contemplating the Divine Being apart from the 
gospel of Christ, or through the distorting medium of our 
own fancies, may possibly, in some cases, produce depres- 
sion, viewing him as he is presented to our minds in the 
scriptures, in all the plenitude of his goodness and benevo- 
lence, is sure to be productive of consequences directly op- 
posite. Instead of there being any danger likely to arise 
from having our thoughts too much employed upon the cha- 
racter of God, we think a scripturally comprehensive view 
of his perfections the best possible preservative from despair. 
To represent an excess of devotion as the cause of Cowper's 



72 THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 

malady, in however slight a degree, is obviously opposed to 
every consistent vieAV of religion, and is assigning that for 
its cause which was infinitely more likely to become its only 
effectual cure. 

The melancholy condition to which Cowper was now re- 
duced, afforded Mrs. Unwin an opportunit}^ of proving the 
warmth of her aflection for, and the sincerity of her attach- 
ment to, the dejected poet. He now required to be watched 
with the greatest care, vigilance, and perseverance ; and it 
pleased God to endow her with all that tenderness, fortitude, 
and firmness of mind, which were requisite for the proper 
discharge of duties so important. Her incessant care over 
him, during tlie long fit of liis depressive malady, could only 
be equalled by the pleasure she experienced, on seeing his 
pure and powerful mind, gradually emerge from that awful 
state of darkness, in which it had been enveloped, into the 
clear sunshine of liberty and peace: she hailed hiS approach 
to convalescence, slowly as it advanced, with the mingled 
emotions of gratitude and praise. 

Cowper, throughout the whole of this severe attack, was 
inaccessible to all, except his friend Mr. Newton, who, during 
the whole of its continuance, watched over him with the 
greatest tenderness, and was indefatigable in his efforts to 
administer consolation to liis depressed spirit. He once en- 
tertained him fourteen months at the vicarage, and, with un- 
tired perseverance, laboured incessantly to dissipate the dark 
cloud that had gathered over his mind; bat to every consola- 
tory suggestion he was utterly deaf, concluding that God 
had rejected him, and that, consequently, it was sinful for 
him even to wish for mercy. How awful are the effects of 
mental disorganization ! liow easily does it convert that into 
poison which was designed for solid food ! how highly ought 
we to prize, and how thankful ought we to be, for the unin- 
terrupted enjoyment of our mental powers! 

After enduring an accumulation of anguish, almost incon- 
ceivable, for the long space of five years, unalleviated by a 
single glimpse of comfort, the interesting sufferer began at 
length gradually to recover. He listened to the advice of 
Mrs. Unwin, and allowed her, occusionally at least, to divert 
his mind from those melancholy considerations by which he 
had so long been burdened. It now occurred to Mrs. Unwin, 
that he might probably find it beneficial to be employed in 
some amusing occupation. She suggested this to some of her 
neighbours, who all deplored the poet's case, felt a lively in- 
terest in his welfare, and would gladly have done anything 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 73 

• u their power, that was the least likely to mitigate his dis- 
tress. 

The children of one of his neighbours had recently given 
them, for a plaything, a young leveret ; it was at that time 
about three months old. Understanding better how to teaze 
the poor creature than to feed it, and soon becoming weary 
of their charge, they readily consented that their father, who 
saw it pining, and growing leaner every day, should offer it 
to Cowper's acceptance. Beginning then to be glad of any- 
thing that would engage his attention without fatiguing it, 
he was willing enough to take the prisoner under his protec- 
tion, perceiving that, in the management of such an animal, 
and in the attempt to tame it, he should find just that sort of. 
emplo5"ment which his case required. It was soon known 
among his neighbours that he was pleased with the present ; 
and the consequence was, that in a short time, he had as 
many levevets offered him, as would have stocked a paddock. 
He undertook tlie care of three, which he named Puss, Tiney, 
and Bess. The choice of their food, and the diversity of 
their dispositions, afforded him considerable amusement, and 
their occasional diseases excited his sympathy and tender- 
ness. One remained with him during the whole of his abode 
at Olney, and was afterw^ards celebrated in his unrivalled 
poem, the Task; and at its decease, honoured with a beau- 
tiful epitaph from his pen ; another lived with him nearly 
nine years ; but the third did not long survive the restraints 
of its confined situation. An admirably written narrative of 
these animals, from his own pen, was inserted in the Gentle- 
man's Magazine of that day, which has since been published 
at the end of almost every edition of his w^orks. 

For a considerable period, Cowper's only companions were 
Mrs. Unwin, Mr. and Mrs. Newton, and his three hares. 
About this time, it pleased God to remove Mr. Newton, to 
another scene of labour. Deeply interested in the welfare of 
his afflicted friend, and aware of his aversion to the visits of 
• strangers, Mr. Newton thought it advisable, before he left 
Olney, to introduce to his interesting but most afflicted 
friend, the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport Pagnel. After some 
difficulty, Mr. Newton triumphed over Cowper's extreme 
reluctance to see strangers, and Mr. Bull visited him regu- 
larly once a fortnight, and gradually acquired his cordial and 
confidential esteem. 

Of this gentleman, Cowper, in one of his letters, gives the 
following playful and amusing description : — " You are not 
acquainted with the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport — perhaps it 
7 



74 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

is as well for j'ou that you are not. You would regret 
still more than you do, that there are so many miles inter- 
posed between us. He spends part of the da)^ with us to- 
morrow. A dissenter, but a liberal one ; a man of letters 
and of genius ; master of a fine imagination, or rather not 
master of it ; an imagination which, when he finds himself 
in the company he loves, and can confide in, runs away with 
him into such fields of speculation, as amuse and enliven 
every other imagination that has the happiness to he of the 
party. At other times, he has a tender and delicate sort of 
melancholy in his disposition, not less agreeable in its way. 
No men are better qualified for companions in such a world 
as this, than men of such a temperament. E^'ery scene of 
life has two sides, a dark and a bright one ; and the mind 
that has an equal mixture of melancholy and vivacity, is best 
of all qualified for the contemplation of either. He can be 
lively without levity, and pensive without dejection. Such 
a man is Mr. Bull : but — he smokes tobacco — nothing is 
perfect." 

Mr. Bull, who probably regarded the want of some regu- 
lar employment as one of the predisposing causes of Cow- 
per's illness, prevailed upon him to translate several spi- 
ritual songs, from the poetry of Madame de la IMothe Guyon, 
the friend of the mild and amiable Fenelon. The devotion 
of these songs is not of that purely unexceptionable charac- 
ter which might be wished ; and if devotional excitement had 
been the cause of Cowper's malady, no recommendation 
could have been more injudicious. The result, however, 
was beneficial to the poet, instead of being injurious, proving 
iiTesistibly that devotion had a soothing, rather than an irri- 
tating eifect upon his mind. 

Much as Cowper admired these songs, for that rich vein 
of pure and exalted devotion, which runs through the whole 
of them, he was not insensible to their defects, as will 
appear bj'^ the following remarks : — " The French poetess is 
certainly chargeable with the fault you mention, though I 
think it not so glaring in the piece sent you. I have endea- 
voured, indeed, in all the translations I have made, to cure 
her of the evil, either by the suppression of exceptionable 
passages, or by a more sober manner of expression. Still, 
however, she will be found to have conversed familiarly with 
God, but I hope not fulsomelj', nor so as to give reasonable 
disgust to a religious reader. That God should deal fami- 
liarly with man, or, which is the same thing, that he should 
permit man to deal familiarly with him, seems not very dif- 



ii 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 75 

licult to conceive, or presumptuous to suppose, when some 
things are taken into consideration. Woe to the sinner, how- 
ever, that shall dare to take a liberty with him that is not 
warranted by his word, or to which he himself has not en- 
couraged him. When he assumed man's nature, he revealed 
himself as the friend of man. He conversed freely with him 
while he was upon earth, and as freely with him after his 
resurrection. I doubt not, therefore, that it is possible to 
enjoy an access to him even now, unincumbered with cere- 
monious awe, easy, delightful, and without constraint. This, 
however, can only be the lot of those who make it the busi- 
ness of their lives to please him, and to cultivate communion 
with him ; and then I presume there can be no danger of of- 
fence, because such a habit of the soul is his own creation, 
and near as we come, we come no nearer to him than he is 
pleased to draw us : if we address him as children, it is be- 
cause he tells us he is our Father ; if we unbosom ourselves 
to him as our friend, it is because he calls us friends ; if we 
speak to him in the language of love, it is because he first 
used it, thereby teaching us that it is the language he de- 
lights to hear from his people. But I confess, that through 
the weakness, the folly, and corruption of human nature, this 
privilege, like all other Christian privileges, is liable to abuse. 
There is a mixture of evil in everything we do ; indulgence 
encourages us to encroach, and while we exercise the rights 
of children, we become childish. Here, I think, is the point 
in which my authoress failed, and here it is that I have par- 
ticularly guarded my translation, not afraid of representing 
her as dealing with God familiarly but foolishly, irreverently, 
and without due attention to his majestj'^, of which she is 
somewhat guilty. A wonderful fault for such a woman to 
fall into, v\"ho spent her life in the contemplation of his glory, 
who seems to have been always impressed with a sense of 
it, and sometimes quite absorbed by the views she had of it." 
Mrs. Unwin, who still watched over her patient with the 
tenderest anxiety, saw, with inexpressible delight, the first 
efforts of his mind, after his long and painful depression; 
and perceiving that translation had a good effect, she wisely 
urged him to employ his mind in composing some original 
poem, which she thought more likely to become beneficial. 
Cowper now listened to her advice, and felt so powerfully 
the obligations under which he was laid to her, for her con- 
tinued attention and kindness, that he cheerfully complied 
with her request. The result exceeded her most sanguine 
expectation. A beautiful poem was produced, entitled Table 



76 THE LIFE OF WILLIA3I COWPER, 

Talk ; another, called the Pronrress of Error, was shortly 
composed ; Truth, as a pleasing contrast, followed it; this 
was succeeded by others of equal excellence, proving that 
the poet's mind had now completely emerged from that dark- 
ness in which it had so long been confined by his depressive 
malady. 

It is interesting to observe, that Cow^per's poems were 
almost invariably composed at the suggestion of friends. He 
wrote hymns, to oblige Mr. NeAvton ; translated Madam 
Guyon's songs, to gratify his friend Mr. Bull, and composed 
the greater part of his poems, to please Mrs. Unwin. The 
influence of friendship on his tender mind, was powerfully 
affecting ; and he ever regarded it as his happiest inspiration. 
It kindled the warmth of his heart, into a flame, intense and 
ardent, stimulated into activity the rich, but dormant powers 
of his mind, and produced those bursts of poetic feeling and 
beauty, which abound in his unrivalled compositions. 

Cowper regained his admirable talent for composition, 
both in poetry and in prose, and renewed his correspondence 
with some of his more intimate friends, long before his mind 
was wholly convalescent; and his letters, written at this 
period, afford the best clue to the painful peculiarities of his 
case. On every other subject but that of his own feelings, 
his remarks are in the highest degree pleasing ; and there 
was often a sprightliness and vivacity about them, that 
seemed to indicate a state of mind at the remotest distance 
from painful ; but whenever he adverted to his own case, it 
was in a tone the most plaintive and melancholy. 

Immediately after the removal of his esteemed friends, 
Mr. and Mrs. Newton, he commenced a correspondence with 
them, which he regularly kept up during almost the whole 
of his life. To Mrs. Newton, soon after this event, he thus 
describes his feelings on the occasion. " The vicarage- 
house became a melancholy object as soon as Mr. Newton 
had left it; when you left it, it became more melancholy; 
now it is actually occupied by another family, I cannot even 
look at it without being shocked. As I walked in the garden 
last evening, I saw the smoke issue from the study chimney, 
and said to myself, that used to be a sign that Mr. Newton 
was there ; but it is so no longer. The walls of the house 
know nothing of the change that has taken place, the bolt of 
the chamber door sounds just as it used to do, and when Mr. 

P- goes up stairs, for ought I know, or ever shall know, 

the fall of his foot can hardly perhaps, be distinguished from 
that of Mr. Newton. But Mr. Newton's foot will never be 



I 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 77 

heard upon that staircase again. These reflections, and such 
as these, occurred to me on this occasion. If I were in a con- 
dition to leave Olney, I certainly would not stay in it. It is 
no attachment to the place that binds me here, but an unfit- 
ness for every other. I lived in it once, but now I am buried 
in it, and have no business with the world on the outside of 
my sepulchre ; my appearance would startle them, and theirs 
would be shocking to me." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 3d May, 1780, he thus writes: 
" You indulge me in such a variety of subjects, and allow 
me such a latitude of excursion, in this scribbling employ- 
ment, that I have no excuse for silence. I am much obliged 
to you for swallowing such boluses, as I send you, for the 
sake oi my gilding, and verily believe, I am the only man 
alive, from whom they would be welcome, to a palate like 
yours. I wish I could make them more splendid than they 
are, more alluring to the eye, at least, if not more pleasing to 
the taste, but my leaf-gold is tarnished, and has received such 
a tinge from the vapours that are ever brooding over my 
mind, that I think it no small proof of your partiality to me, 
that you will read my letters. If every human being upon 
earth could think for one quarter of an hour, as I have thought 
for many years, there might perhaps be many miserable men 
among them, but not one unawakened one would be found, 
from the Arctic to the Antarctic circle. At present, the dif- 
ference between them and me, is greatly to their advantage. 
I delight in baubles, and know them to be so, for rested in, 
and viewed without a reference to their author, what is the 
earth, what are the planets, what is the sun itself, but a 
bauble? Better for a man never to have seen them, or to see 
them with the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of 
what he beholds, than not to be able to say, ' The maker of 
all these wonders is my friend !' Their eyes have never 
been opened, to see that they are triflas, mine have been, and 
will be, till they are closed for ever." 

" I live in a world abounding with incidents, upon which 
many grave, and perhaps some profitable observations, might 
be made ; but these incidents never reaching my unfortunate 
ears, both the entertaining narrative, and the reflections it 
might suggest, are to be annihilated and lost. I look back 
on the past week, and say, what did it produce? I ask the 
same question of the week preceding, and duly receive the 
same answer from both — nothing ! A situation like this, in 
which I am as unknown to the world, as I am ignorant of all 
that passes in it — in which I have nothing to do but to think, 
7* 



78 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 

would exactly suit me, were my subjects of meditation as 
agreeable as my leisure is uninterrupted : my passion for re- 
tirement is not at all abated, after so many years spent in the 
most sequestered state, but rather increased ; a circumstance, 
I should esteem wonderful, to a degree not to be accounted 
for, considering the condition of my mind, did I' not know 
that we think as we are made t;o think, and of course, ap- 
prove and prefer, as Providence, who appoints the bounds of 
our habitation, chooses for us. Thus, I am both free, and a 
prisoner at the same time. The world is before me ; I am 
not shut up in the Bastile ; there are no moats about my 
castle, no locks upon my gates, of which I have not the 
keys ; but an invisible, uncontrollable agency, a local attach- 
ment, an inclination, more forcible than I ever felt, even to 
the place of my birth, serves me for prison walls, and for 
bounds, which I cannot pass. In former years I have known 
sorrow, and before I had ever tasted of spiritual trouble. The 
effect was, an abhorrence of the scene in which I had suffer- 
ed so much, and a weariness of those objects which I had so 
long looked at with an eye of despondency and dejection. 
But it is otherwise with me now. The same cause subsist- 
ing, and in a much more powerful degree, fails to produce 
its natural effect. The very stones in the garden walls, are 
my intimate acquaintance. I should miss almost the mi- 
nutest object, and be disagreeably affected by its removal, 
and am persuaded, that were it possible I could leave this 
incommodious nook for a twelvemonth, I should return to it 
again with raptures, and be transported with the sight of ob- 
jects, which, to all the world beside, would be at least indif- 
ferent ; some of them, perhaps, such as the ragged thatch, 
and the tottering walls, disgusting. But so it is, and it is so, 
because here is to be my abode, and because such is the ap- 
pointment of Him who placed me in it. It is the place of all 
the world I love the most, not for any happiness it affords 
me, but because here I can be miserable with most conveni- 
ence to myself, and with least disturbance to others." 

In a letter to Mrs. Unwin's son, with whom he had now 
commenced a correspondence, he thus describes his feelings. 
" So long as I am pleased with an employment, I am capa- 
ble of unwearied application, because my feelings are all of 
the intense kind ; I never received a little pleasure from any- 
thing in my life ; if I am delighted, it is in the extreme. The 
unhappy consequence of this temperature is, that my attach- 
ment to my occupation seldom outlives the novelty of it. 
That nerve of my imagination that feels the touch of any par- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 79 

ticular amusement, twangs under the energy of the pressure 
with so much vehemence, that it soon becomes sensible of 
weariness and fatigue." 

Writing to Mr. Newton, 12th July, 1780, he thus again 
adverts to his own case. " Such nights as I frequently spend, 
are but a miserable prelude to the succeeding day, and indis- 
pose me, above all things, to the business of writing. Yet 
with a pen in my hand, if I am able to write at all, I find my 
self gradually relieved ; and as I am glad of any employment 
that may serve to engage my attention, so especially I am 
pleased with an opportunity of conversing with you, though 
it be but upon paper. This occupation, above all others, 
assists me in that self-deception, to which I am indebted for 
all the little comfort I enjoy ; things soem to be as they were, 
and I almost forget that they can never be so again. If I 
have strength of mind, I have not strength of body for the 
task, which, you say, some would impose upon me. I can- 
not bear much thinking. The meshes of that fine net-work, 
the brain, are composed of such mere spinner's threads in 
me, that when a long thought finds its way into them, it 
buzzes, and twangs, and bustles about, at such a rate, as 
seems to threaten the whole contexture." 

To the same correspondent he writes on another occasion. 
" Your sentiments, with respect to me, are exactly like Mrs. 
Unwin's. She, like you, is perfectly sure of my deliverance, 
and often tells me so ; I make her but one answer, and some 
times none all. That answer gives her no pleasure, and 
would give you as little ; therefore, at this time I suppress it. 
It is better on every account that they who interest them- 
selves so deeply in that event, should believe the certainty 
of it, than that they should not. It is a comfort to them, at 
least, if it be none to me, and as I could not, if I would, so 
neither would I, if I could, deprive them of it. If human 
nature may be compared to a piece of tapestry, (and why 
nof?) when human nature, as it subsists in me, though it is 
sadly faded on the right side, retains all its colour on the 
wrong. At this season of the year, and in this gloomy and 
uncomfortable climate, it is no easy matter for the owner of 
a mind like mine, to divert it from sad subjects, and fix it 
upon such as may administer to its amusement. Poetry, 
above all things, is useful to me in this respect. While I 
am held in pursuit of pretty images, or a pretty way of ex- 
pressing them, I forget everything that is irksome, and, like 
a boy that plays truant, determine to avail himself of the 
present opportunity to be amused, regardless of future conse- 



80 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

quences. It will not be long perhaps, before you will re- 
ceive a poem, called the Progress of Error ,- that Avill be suc- 
ceeded by another, in due time, called Truth. Don't be 
alarmed. I ride Pegasus with a curb. He will never run 
away with me again. I have even convinced Mrs. Unwin, 
that I can manage him, and make him stop, when I please." 

On another occasion he gives the following curious and 
playful description of himself. " I can compare this mind 
of mine to nothing that resembles it more, than to a board, 
that is under the carpenter's plane, (I mean while I am writ- 
ing to you) the shavings are my uppermost thoughts ; after 
a few strokes of the tool, it acquires a new surface ; this 
again, upon a repetition of his task, he takes off, and a new 
surface still succeeds. Whether the shavings of the present 
day, will be worth your acceptance, I know not; I am unfor- 
tunately, made neither of cedar nor of mahogany, but Trun- 
cus Jiculnus, inutile lignum, consequentlj'^, though I should 
be planed till I am as thin as a wafer, it will be but rubbish 
at last." 

To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus plaintively describes 
his feelings: — " My days steal away silently, and march on, 
(as poor mad Lear would have made his soldiers march) as 
if they were shod with felt ; not so silently but that I hear them, 
yet were it not that I am always listening to their flight, hav- 
ing no infirmity that I had not when I was much younger, 
I should deceive myself with an imagination that I am still 
young. I am fond of writing, as an amusement, but do not 
always find it one. Being rather scantily furnished with sub- 
jects that are good for anything, and corresponding only with 
those who have no relish for such as are good for nothing, I 
often find mj'self reduced to the necessitj^, the disagreeable 
necessity, of writing about myself. This does not mend the 
matter much ; for though, in a description of my own condi- 
tion, I discover abundant materials to employ my pen upon, 
yet as the task is not very agreeable to me, so, I am suffi- 
ciently aware, that it is likely to prove irksome to others. A 
painter, who should confine himself, in the exercise of his 
art, to the drawing of his own picture, must be a wonderful 
coxcomb indeed, if he did not soon grow sick of his oc- 
cupation, and be peculiarly fortunate if he did not make others 
as sick as himself." 

Notwithstanding Cowper's depressive malady, yet his 
views of religion, even at that period, remained unaltered, and 
were as much distinguished for their excellence as ever. 
Writing to his friend, Mr. Unwin, the following judicious re- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 81 

marks occur, respecting keeping the sabbath: — "With re- 
spect to the advice you are required to give to a young lady, 
that she may be properly instructed in the manner of keep- 
ing the sabbath, I just subjoin a few hints that have occurred 
to me on the occasion. I think the sabbath may be consi- 
dered, first, as a commandment, no less binding upon Cliris- 
tians than upon Jews. The spiritual people among them did 
not think it enough, merely to abstain from manual occupa- 
tions on that day, but entering more deeply into the meaning 
of the precept, allotted those hours, thej' took from the world, 
to the cultivation of holiness in their own souls ; which ever 
was, and ever will be, incumbent upon all, who have the 
Scripture in their hands, and is of perpetual obligation, both 
upon Jews and Christians ; the Commandment enjoins it, and 
the prophets have enforced it; and, in many instances, the 
breach of it has been punished with a providential severity, 
that has made b3^standers tremble. Secondly, it may be con- 
sidered as a privilege, which you will know how to dilate 
upon better than I can tell you ; thirdly, as a sign of that co- 
venant by which believers are entitled to a rest that yet re- 
maineth ; fouithl}% as the sine qua. non of the Christian cha- 
racter, and upon this head, I should guard against being mis- 
understood to mean no more than two attendances upon pub- 
lic worship, which is a form, observed by thousands, who 
never kept a sabbath in their lives. Consistence is necessary 
to give substance and solidity to the w^hole. To sanctify the 
day at church, and to trifle it away out of church, is profana- 
tion, and vitiates all. After all, I should say to my cate- 
chumen. Do you love the day, or do you not? If you love it, 
you will never inquire how far you iwa.y safely deprive your- 
self of the enjoyment of it. If you do not love it, and 
you find yourself in conscience obliged to acknowledge it, 
that is an alarming symptom, and ought to make you tremble. 
If you do not love it, then it is a weariness to j'ou, and j^ou 
wish it over. The ideas of labour and rest, are not more op- 
posite to each other than the idea of a sabbath, and that dis- 
like and disgust, Avith which it fills the souls of thousands, 
to be obliged to keep it, it is worse than bodily labour." 

To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he again writes: — "I know 
not what impressions time may have made upon j'our person, 
for while his claws, (as our grannams called them), strike 
deep furrows in some faces, he seems to sheath them with 
much tenderness, as if fearful of doing injury to others. But, 
though an enemy to the body, he is a friend to the mind, and 
you have doubtless found him so. Though, even in this re- 



82 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

spect, his treatment of us depends upon what he meets with 
at our hands, if we use him well, and listen to his admoni- 
tions, he is a friend indeed ; but otherwise, the worst of ene- 
mies, who takes from us daily, something that we valued, and 
gives us nothing better in its stead. It is well with them, 
who, like you, can stand a tip-toe on the mountain-top of hu- 
man life, look down with pleasure upon the valley they have 
passed, and sometimes stretch their wings in joyful hope of 
a happy flight into eternity. Yet a little while, and your 
hope will be accomplished. The course of a rapid river is 
the justest of all emblems, to express the variableness of our 
scene below. Shakspeare says, none ever bathed himself 
twice in the same stream; and it is equally true, that the 
world upon which we close our eyes at night, is never the 
same as that upon Avhich we open them in the morning." 



( 83 ) 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Mal(es preparations for publishing his first volume — Heavens as- 
signed for it — Beneficial effects of composition on his mind — 
His comjjarative indJffererice to the success of his volume — 
Great care, nevertheless, loith which he composed it — His rea- 
diness to avail himself of the assistance and advice of his friends 
— Tlie interest which Mr. Newton took in his publication — 
Writes the preface for the volume — Coioper^s judicious reply 
to some objections that had been 7nade to it — Publication of the 
volume — Manner in which it was received — Continuance of 
Cou'per^s depression — State of his mind respecting religion — 
His warm attachment to the leading truths of the gospel— Ar- 
dent desires to make his volume the means of conveying them to 
others. 

More than seven years had now elapsed since the c6m- 
mencement of Cowper's distressing malady; and though he 
was not yet perfectly recovered, he had, at length, gradually 
acquired the full exercise of those mental powers for which 
he was so highly distinguished. Having now employed his 
muse, with the happiest effect, for nearlj^ two years, he had 
composed a sufficient number of lines to form a respectable 
volume. Mrs. Unwin had witnessed with delight the pro- 
ductions of his pen, and she now wisely urged him to make 
them public. He was, at first, exceedingly averse to the 
measure ; but, after some consideration, he at length yielded 
to her suggestions, and made preparations to appear as an 
author. His letters to his correspondents on the subject are 
highly interesting; and afford a full developement of the de- 
sign he had in view in appearing before the public. To Mr. 
Unwin he thus writes: — " Your mother says I must write, 
and must admits of no apology ; I might otherwise plead that 
I have nothing to say, that I am weary, that I am dull, that it 
would be more convenient for you, as well as for myself, that 
I should let it alone. But all these pleas, and whatever pleas 
besides, either disinclination, indolence, or necessity, might 
suggest, are overruled, as they ought to be, the moment a lady 
adduces her irrefragable argument, you must. Urged by her 



84 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

entreaties, I have at length sent a volume to the press ; the 
greater part of it is the produce of the last winter. Two-thirds 
of the volume will be occupied by four pieces. It contains, 
in all, about two thousand five hundred lines; and will be 
known, in due time, by the names of Table Talk, The Pro- 
gress of Error, Truth, Expostulation, with an addition of some 
smaller poems, all of which, I believe, have passed under 
your notice. Altogether they will furnish a volume of toler- 
able bulk, that need not be indebted to an intolerable breadth 
of margin, for the importance of its figure." 

In this undertaking he was encouraged by his friend, Mr. 
Newton, with whom he corresponded on the subject, and to 
whom he thus discloses his mind : — " If a board of inquiry 
were to be established, at which poets were to undergo an ex- 
amination respecting the motives that induced them to pub- 
lish, and I were to be summoned to attend, that I might give 
an acount of mine, I think I could truly say, what perhaps 
few poets could, that though I have no objection to lucrative 
consequences, if any such should follow, they are not my aim; 
much less is it my ambition to exhibit myself to the world as 
a genius. What then, says Mr. President, can possibly be 
your motive'? I answer, with a bow, amusement. There is 
no occupation within the compass of mj"^ small sphere, poetry 
excepted, that can do much towards diverting that train of 
melancholy forebodings, which, wlien I am not thus employed, 
are for ever pouring themselves in upon me. And if I did not 
publish what I write, I could not interest myself sufficiently 
in my own success to make an amusement of it. My own 
amusement, however, is not my sole motive. I am merry 
that I may decoy people into my company, and grave that 
they may be the better for it. Now and then I put on the 
garb of a philosopher, and take the opportunity that disguise 
procures me, to drop a word in favour of religion. In short, 
there is some froth, and here and there a bit of sweet-meat, 
which seems to entitle it justly to the name of a certain dish 
the ladies call a trifle. I did not choose to be more facetious, 
lest I should consult the taste of my readers at the expense 
of my own approbation ; nor more serious than I have been, 
lest I shoiild forfeit theirs. A poet in my circumstances has 
a difficult part to act; one minute obliged to bridle his hu- 
mour, if he has any, the next, to clap a spur to the sides of it. 
Now ready to weep, from a sense of the importance of his 
subject, and on a sudden constrained to laugh, lest his gravity 
should be mistaken for dulness." 

Writing to his amiable correspondent, Mrs. Cowper, 19th 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 85 

October, 1781, he says: — "I am preparing a volume of poems 
for the press, which I imagine will make its appearance in 
the course of the winter, if is a bold undertaking at this time 
of day, Avhen so many writers of the greatest abilities have 
gone before, who seem to have anticipated every valuable 
subject, as well as all the graces of poetical embellishment, 
to step forth into the world in the character of a bard ; espe- 
cially when it is considered that luxury, idleness, and vice, 
have debauched the public taste, and that scarcely anything 
but childish fiction, or what has a tendency to excite a laugh, 
is welcome. I thought, however, that I had stumbled upon 
some subjects that had never been poetically treated, and 
upon some others, to which I imagined it would not be diffi- 
cult to give an air of novelty, by the manner of treating them. 
My sole drift is to be useful ; a point which, however, I knew 
I should in vain aim at, unless I could be likewise entertain- 
ing. I have therefore fixed these two strings to my bow ; 
and by the help of both, have done my best, to send my ar- 
row to the mark. My readers will hardly have begun to 
laugh before they will be called upon to correct that levity, 
and peruse me with a more serious air. I cast a side-long 
glance at the good-liking of the world at large, more for the 
sake of their advantage and instruction than their praise. — 
They are children ; if we give them physic, we must sweeten 
the rim of the cup with hoiiey. As to the effect, I leave that 
in his hands, who alone can produce it; neither prose, nor 
verse, can reform the manners of a dissolute age, much less 
can they inspire a sense of religious obligation, unless assist- 
ed, and made efficacious by the power who superintends the 
truth he has vouchsafed to impart." 

To his warm friend, IMr. Hill, he thus amusingly adverts 
to his publication: — " I am in the press, arid it is in vain to 
deny it. My labours are principally the production of the 
last winter ; all, indeed, except a few of the minor pieces.-— 
When I can find no other occupation, I think, and when I think, 
I am very apt to do it in rhyme. Hence it comes to pass that 
the season of the year, which generally pinches off the flowers 
of poetry, unfolds mine, such as they are, and crowns me with 
a winter garland. In this respect, therefore, I and my contem- 
porary bards are by no means upon a par. They write when 
the delightful influences of fine weather, fine prospects, and a 
brisk motion of the animal spirits, make poetry almost the 
language of nature ; and I, when icicles depend from all the 
leaves of the Parnassian laurel, and when a reasonable man 
would as little expect to succeed in verse, as to hear a black- 



86 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

bird whistle. This must be ray apology to you, for whatever 
want of fire and animation you may observe in what you will 
shortly have the perusal of. As to tlie public, if they like 
me not, there is no remedy, A friend will weigh and consi- 
der all disadvantages, and make as large allowances as an 
author can wish, and larger, perhaps, than he has any right 
to expect, but not so the world at large; whatever they do 
not like, they will not by an apology be persuaded to for 
give ; it would be in vain to tell them that I wrote my verses 
in January, for they would immediately reply, Why did 
you not write them in May! A question that might puz- 
zle a wiser head than we poets are generally blessed 
with." 

It might have been supposed, that the vigorous exercise of 
the mental powers which the composition of poetry, like that 
of Cowper's, required, would have increased this depressive 
malady, instead of diminishing it. His, however, was a pe- 
culiar case, and he found it of great advantage, as we learn 
in a letter to Mr. Newton, where he says : — " I have never 
found an amusement, among the many that I have been 
obliged to have recourse to, that so well answered the pur- 
pose for which I used it, as composition. The quieting and 
composing^effect of it was such, and so totally absorbed have 
I sometimes been in my rhyming occupation, that neither the 
past, nor the future, (those themes which to me are so fruit- 
ful in regret at other times) had any longer a share in my 
contemplation. For this reason I wish, and have often wished 
since the fit left me, that it would seize me again, but hither- 
to I have wished it in vain. — I see no want of subjects, but 
I feel a total disability to discuss them. Whether it is thus 
with other writers, or not, I am ignorant, but I should sup- 
pose my case, inthis respect, a little peculiar. The volumi- 
nous writers at least, whose vein of fancy seems always to 
have been rich in proportion to their occasions, cannot have 
been so unlike, and so unequal to themselves. There is this 
difference between my poetship and the generality of tfiem; 
they appear to have been ignorant how much they stood in- 
debted to an Almighty power for the exercise of those talents 
they supposed to be their own. Whereas I know, and know 
most perfectly, that my power to think, whatever it be, and 
consequently my power to compose, is, as much as my out- 
ward form, afforded to me by the same hand that meikes me, 
in any respect, differ from a brute." 

The commencement of authorship is generally a period of 
much painful anxiety ; few persons have ventured on such an 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 87 

undertaking without experiencing considerable excitement ; 
■and in a mind like Cowper's, it might have been supposed 
that such would have been the case in a remarkable degree. 
No person, however, ever ventured before the public, in the 
character of an author, with less anxiety. Writing to Mr. 
Unwin, he says : — " You ask me hoAV I feel on the occasioii 
of my approaching publication 1 Perfectly at ease. If I had 
not been pretty well assured beforehand, that my tr,anquillity 
would be but little endangered by such a measure, I would 
never have engaged in it, for I cannot bear disturbance. I 
have had in view two principal objects; first, to amuse my- 
self, and then to compass that point in such a manner, that 
others might possibly be the better for my amusement. If I 
have succeeded, it will give me pleasure ; but if I have failed, 
I shall not be mortified to the degree that might perhaps be 
expected. The critics cannot deprive me of the pleasure I 
have in reflecting, that so far as my leisure has been employed 
in writing for the public, it has been employed conscientiously, 
and with a view to their advantage. There is nothing agreear 
ble, to be sure, in being chronicled for a dunce ; but I believe 
there lives not a man upon earth who would be less affected 
by it than myself." 

Indifferent as he was to the result of his publications, he 
was far from being careless in their composition. Perhaps 
no author ever took more pains with his production, or sought 
more carefully to make them worthy of public approbation. 
In one of his letters, adverting to this subject, he says-— 
" To touch, and retouch, is, though some writers boast of ne- 
gligence, and others would be ashamed to show their foul co- 
pies, the secret of almost all good writing, especially in verse. 
I am never weary of it myself, and if you would take as much 
pains as 1 do, you would not need to ask for my corrections. 
With the greatest indifference to fame, which you know me 
too well to suppose me capable of affecting, I have taken the 
utmost pains to deserve it. This may appear a mystery; or 
a paradox, in practice, but it is true. I considered that the 
taste of the day is refined, and delicate to excess, and that to 
disgust that delicacy of the taste by a slovenly inattention 
to it, would be to forfeit at once, all hope of being useful ; 
and for this reason, though I have written more verse this 
year than perhaps any man in England, I have finished, and 
polished, and touched and retouched, with the utmost care. 
Whatever faults I may be chargeable with as a poet, I can- 
not accuse myself of negligence ; I never suffer a line to pass 
till I have made it as good as I can ; and though some may 



88 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM OOWPER. 

be oflFended at my doctrines, I trust none will 1)6 disgusted by 
slovenly inaccuracy, in the numbers, the rhymes, or the lan- 
guage. If, after all, I should be converted into waste paper, 
it may be my misfortune, but it will not be my fault; and I 
shall bear it with perfect serenity." 

In the character of Cowper there was nothing like an over- 
weening confidence in his own powers. No person was ever 
more willing to avail himself of the advice of his friendsj 
nor did any one ever receive advice more gratefully. Not 
satisfied with bestowing upon his productions the greatest 
pains himself, he occasionally submitted them to the correc- 
tion of others, and his correspondence affords many proofs 
of his readiness to profit by the slightest hint. To Mr. New- 
ton he thus writes : " I am much obliged to you for the pains- 
)'^ou have taken with my poems, and for the manner in which 
you have interested yourself in their appearance. Your fa- 
vourable opinion aifords me a comfortable presage with res- 
pect to that of the public ; for though I make allowance for 
your partiality to me, yet I am sure you would not suffer me, 
uhadmonished, to add myself to the number of insipid rhy- 
mers with whose productions the world is already too much 
pestered. I forgot to mention, that Johnson uses the discre- 
tion my poetship has allowed him, with much discernment. 
He has suggested several alterations, or rather marked seve- 
ral defective passages, Avhich I have corrected ; much to the 
advantage of the poems. In the last sheet he sent me, he 
noticed three such, which I reduced to better order. In the 
foregoing sheet I assented to his criticisms in some instances, 
and chose to abide by the original expressions in others; 
whenever he has marked such lines as did not please him, I 
have, as often as I could, paid all possible respect to his ani- 
madversions. Thus we jog on together comfortably enough; 
and perhaps it would be as well for authors in general, if their 
booksellers, when men of some taste, are allowed, though 
not to tinker the work themselves, yet to point out the flaws, 
and humbly to recommend an improvement. I have also to 
thank you, and ought to have done it in the first place, for 
having recommended to me the suppression of some lines, 
which I am now more than ever convinced, would at least 
have done me no honour." 

The great interest Mr. Newton took in Cowper's publica- 
tion,, induced the poet to request him to compose the preface ; 
and his correspondence with Mr. Newton on the subject is 
alike honourable to his judgment and his feelings ; and affords 
a striking display of the strong hold which religion had upon 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 89 

his affections. He thus introduces the subject to Mr. New- 
ton, " With respect to the poem called Truth, it is so true 
that it can hardly fail of giving offence to an unenlightened 
reader. I think, therefore, that in order to obviate in some mea- 
sure those prejudices that will naturally erect their bristles 
against it, an explanatory preface, such as you, (and nobody 
else so well as you) can furnish me with, will have every 
grace of propriety to recommend it ; or if you are not averse 
to the task, and your avocations will allow you to undertake 
•it, and if you think it will be still more proper, I should 
be glad to be indebted to you for a preface to the whole. I 
admit that it will require much delicacy, but am far from ap- 
prehending that you will find it difficult to succeed. You 
can draw a hair-stroke, where another man would make a 
blot, as broad as a sixpence." 

The preface composed by Mr. Newton, though it was in 
the highest degree satisfactory to Cowper, and was admitted 
by him to be everything that he could wish, was neverthe- 
less thought by others to be of too sombre a cast, to intro- 
duce a volume of poems, pre-eminently distinguished for 
their vivacity and eloquence. Adverting to this objection, 
and to the suggestion of the publisher to suppress it, Cow- 
per thus writes : — " If the men of the world are so merrily 
disposed, in the midst of a thousand calamities, that they 
will not deign to read a preface, of three or four pages, be- 
cause the purport of it is serious, they are far gone, indeed, 
in the last stage of a frenzy. I am, however, willing to hope, 
that such is not the case ; curiosity is an universal passion. 
There are few persons who think a book worth reading, but 
feel a desire to know something about the writer of it. This 
desire will naturally lead them to peep into the preface, where 
they will soon find, that a little perseverance will furnish 
them with some information oh the subject. If therefore your 
preface finds no readers, I shall take it for granted that it is, 
because the book itself is accounted not worth their notice. 
Be that as it may, it is quite sufficient that I have played the 
antic myself for their diversion ; and that, in a state of de- 
jection such as they are absolute strangers to, I have some- 
times put on an air of cheerfulness and vivacity, to which I 
myself am in reality a stranger, for the sake of winning their 
attention to more useful matter. I cannot endure the thought, 
for a moment, that you should descend to my level on the oc- 
casion, and court their favour in a style not more unsuitable 
to your function, than to the constant and consistent strain 
of your whole character and conduct. Though your preface 



90 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. 

is of a serious cast, it is free from all offensive peculiarities, 
and contains none of those obnoxious doctrines at which the 
world is too apt to be angry. It asserted nothing more than 
every rational creature must admit to be true — that divine 
and earthly things can no longer stand in competition with 
each other, in the judgment of any man, than while he con- 
tinues ignorant of their respective value ; and that the mo- 
ment the eyes are opened, the latter are always cheerfully 
relinquished for the former. It is impossible for me however 
to be so insensible to your kindness in writing the preface, 
as not to be desirous of defying all contingencies, rather than 
entertain a wish to suppress it. It will do me honour, in- 
deed, in the eyes of those whose good opinion is worth 
having', and if it hurts me in the estimation of others I can- 
not help it ; the fault is neither yours, nor mine, but theirs. 
If a minister's is a more splendid character than a poet's, and 
I think nobody that understands their value can hesitate in 
deciding that question, then undoubtedly, the advantage of 
having our names united in the same volume, is all on my 
side." 

Cowper's first volume was published in the spring of 1783. 
Its success, at first, fell far short of what might have been 
anticipated from its extraordinary merit. It was not long, 
however, before the more intelligent part of the reading public 
appreciated its value. It soon found its way into the hands of 
all lovers of literature. Abounding with some of the finest 
passages that are to be met with, either in ancient or modern 
poetry, it was impossible that it should remain long unnotic- 
ed. By mere readers of taste, it was read for the beauty and 
elegance of its composition ; by many, it was eagerly sought 
after for the sprightliness, vivacity, and wit, with which it 
abounded : — ^by Christians, of all denominations, it was read 
with -unfeigned pleasure, for the striking and beautiful de- 
scriptions it contained, of doctrinal, practical, and experi- 
mental Christianity. 

It would scarcely be supposed that the author of a volume 
of poems like this, exhibiting such a diversity of powers as 
could not fail to charm the mind, delight the imagination, 
and improve the heart, could have remained, during the whole 
time he was composing it, in a state of great and painful de- 
pression. Such however was the peculiarity of Cowper's 
malady, that a train of melancholy thoughts seemed ever to 
be pouring themselves in upon his mind, which neither him- 
self nor his friends were ever able to account for, satisfacto- 
rily. Writing to his friend Mr. Newton, who had recently 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 91 

paid him a visit, he thus discloses the state of his mind : — 
" My sensations at your departure were far from pleasant. 
When we shall meet again, and in what circumstances, or 
whether we shall meet or not, is an article to be found no 
where but in that providence which belongs to the current 
year, and will not be understood till it is accomplished. 
This I know, that your visit was most agreeable to me, who, 
though I live in the midst of many agreeables, am but little 
sensible of their charms. But when you came, I determined, 
as much as possible, to be deaf to the suggestionsof despair ; 
that if I could contribute but little to the pleasure of the op- 
portunit}'', I might not dash it with unseasonable melancholy, 
and like an instrument with a broken string, interrupt the 
harmony of the concert." 

It is gratifying to observe, that neither the attention which 
Cowper paid to his publication, nor the depressive malady 
with which he was afflicted, could divert his attention from 
the all-important concerns of religion. A tone of deep se- 
riousness, and genuine Christian feeling, pervades many of 
his letters written about this time. To Mr. Newton he thus 
v/rites^r— " You wish ji^ou could employ your time to better 
purpose, 3^et are never idle, in all that you do ; whether you 
are alone, or pay visits, or receive them; whether you think 
or write, or walk, or sit stijl, the state of your mind is such 
as discovers even to yourself, in spite of all its wanderings, 
that there is a principle at the bottom, whose determined ten- 
dency is towards the best things. I do not at all doubt the 
truth of what you say, when you complain of that crowd of 
trifling thoughts that pesters you without ceasing ; but then 
you always have a serious thought standing at the door of 
j'our imagination, like a justice of the peace, with the Riot 
Act in his hand, ready to read it and disperse the mob. Here 
lies the difference between you and me. You wish for more 
attention, I for less. Dissipation itself would be welcome to 
me, so it were not a vicious one ; but however earnestly in- 
vited, it is coy and keeps at a distance. Yet with all this 
distressing gloom upon my mind, I experience, as j-ou do, the 
slipperiness of the present hour, and the rapidity with which 
time escapes me. Everything around us, and everything 
that befalls us, constitutes a variety, which, whether agree- 
able or otherwise, has still a thievish propensity ; and steals 
from us days, months, and years, with such unparalleled 
suddenness, that even while we say they are here, they are 
gone. From infancy to manhood, is rather a tedious period, 
chiefly, I suppose, because at that time, we act under the 



92 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

control of others, and are not suffered to have a will of our 
own. But thence downward into the vale of years, is such 
a declivity, that we have just an opportunity to reflect 
upon the steepness of it and then find ourselves at the bot- 
tom." 

The following extracts from his correspondence with Mr. 
Unwin, who at that time, was on a visit at Brightelmstone, 
will show the deep tone of seriousness that pervaded his 
mind : — " I think with you, that the most magnificent object 
under heaven is the great deep ; and cannot but feel an un- 
polite^ species of astonishment, when I consider the multi- 
tudes that view it without emotion, and even without reflec- 
tion. In all its varied forms, it is an object, of all others, 
the most suitable to aflTect us with lasting impressions of the 
awful power that created and controls it. I am the less in- 
clined to think this negligence excusable, because, at a time 
of life, when I gave as little attention to religion as any man, 
I yet remember that the waves would preach to me, and that in 
the midst of worldly dissipation I had an ear to hear them. In 
the fashionable amusements which you will probably witness 
for a time, you will discern no signs of sobriety, or true wis- 
dom. But it is impossible for a man who has a mind like 
yours, capable of reflection, to observe the manners of a mul- 
titude without learning something. If he sees nothing to 
imitate, he is sure to see something to avoid. If nothing to 
congratulate his fellow-creatures upon, at least much to ex- 
cite his compassion. There is not, I think, so melancholy a 
sight in the world, (an hospital is not to be compared to it,) 
as that of a multitude of persons, distinguished by the name 
of gentry, who, gentle perhaps by nature, and made more 
gentle by education, have the appearance of being innocent 
and inoffensive, yet being destitute of all religion, or not at 
all governed by the religion they profess, are none of them at 
any great distance from an eternal state, where self-deception 
will be impossible, and where amusements cannot enter. 
Some of them we may hope will be reclaimed, it is most 
probable that many will, because mercy, if one may be al- 
lowed the expression, is fond of distinguishing itself by seek- 
ing its objects among the most desperate class; but the 
Scripture gives no encouragement to the warmest charity, to 
expect deliverance for them all. When I see an afflicted and 
unhappy man, I say to myself, there is perhaps a man, whom 
the world would envy, if they knew the value of his sorrows, 
which are possibly intended only to soften his heart, and to 
turn his affections towards their proper centre. But when I 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 93 

see, or hear of a crowd of voluptuaries, who have no ears but 
for music, no eyes but for splendour, and no tongues but for 
impertinence and folly — I say, or at least I see occasion to 
say, this is madness — this, persisted in, must have a tragical 
conclusion. It will condemn you, not only as Christians, 
unworthy of the name, but as intelligent creatures — you 
know by the liglit of. nature, if you have not quenched it, 
that there is a God, and that a life like yours cannot be ac- 
cording to his will. I ask no pardon of you for the gravity 
and gloominess of these reflections, which, with others of a 
similar complexion, are sure to occur to me when I think of 
a scene of public diversion like that you have witnessed." 

The following remarks, extracted from a letter to the same 
correspondent, while they serve to display the state of his 
mind respecting religion, exhibit at the same time, the high 
value which he set upon the leading truths of the gospel :— 
"When I wrote the poem on Truth, it was indispensably ne- 
cessary^ that I should set forth that doctrine which I know to 
be true ; and that I should pass, what I understood to be a 
just censure, upon opinions and persuasions that stand in di- 
rect opposition to it ; because, though some errors may be 
innocent, and even religious errors are not alwa5^s dangerous, 
yet in a case where the faith and hope of a Christian are con- 
cerned, they must necessarily be destructive ; and because 
neglecting this, I should have betrayed my subject ; either 
suppressing what in my judgment is of the last importance, 
or giving countenance by a timid silence, to the very evils it 
was my design to combat. That you may understand me 
better, I will subjoin ; that I wrote that poem on purpose to 
inculcate the eleemosynary character of the gospel, as a dis- 
pensation of mercy, in the most absolute sense of the word, 
to the exclusion of all claims of merit on the part of the re- 
ceiver ; consequently to set the brand of invalidity upon the 
plea of works, and to discover, upon scriptural ground, the 
absurdity of that notion, which includes a solecism in the 
very terms of it, that man by repentance and good works, 
may deserve the mercy of his Maker. I call it solecism, be- 
cause mercy deserved ceases to be mercy, and must take the 
name of justice. This is the opinion which I said, in my last, 
the world would not acquiesce in, but except this, I do not 
recollect that I have introduced a syllable into any of my 
pieces, that they can possibly object to; and even this I have 
endeavoured to deliver from doctrinal dryness, by as many 
pretty things, in the way of trinket and plaything, as I could 
muster upon the subject. So that if I have rubbed their gums, 



94 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

I have taken care to do it with a coral, and even that coral 
embellished by the ribbon to vrhich it is attached, and recom- 
mended by the tinkling of all the bells Lcould contrive to an- 
nex to it." 

The following beautiful lines convey sentiments so mucl 
in unison with this extract, that we cannot forbear to insert^ 
them at the close of this chapter :— 

"I am no preacher; Mt this hint suffice, 
7'he cross once seen is deatli to every vice; 
Else he that hung' there suffered all his pain, 
Bled, groaned, and agonized, and died in vain. 
There, and there only, (though the deist rave. 
And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave, ) 
Tliere, and there only, is the power to save ; 
There no delusive hope invites despair, 
No mockeiy meets you, no deception there; 
The spells and charms that bUnded you before. 
All vanish there, and fascinate no more." 

Progress of Error, 



( 95 ) 



CHAPTER IX. 



Commencement of Cowper's acquaintance with Lady ^ustin-^ 
Pleasure it afforded him— Poetic epistle to her — Her removal 
to Olney — Beneficial influence of her conversational powers 
on Cowper's mind — Occasion of his writing John Gilpin— 
Lines composed at Lady Jlusthi's request — Induced hy her to 
commence writing The Task — Principal object he had in view 
in composing it — Sudden and final separation from Lady 
Austin — Occasional severity of his depressive malady — Hopes 
entertained by his friends of his ultimate recovery — His own 
opinion upon it — Pleasing proofs of the power of religion on 
his mind — Tenderness of his con,science — Serious refiecfions~- 
Aversion to religious deception and pretended piety — Bigotry 
and intolerance, with their opposite vices, levity and indiffer- 
ence, deplored — Sympathy with the sufferings of the poor- 
Enviable condition of such of them as are pi-ous, ccrmpared 
with the rich who disregard religion. 

In the autumn of 1781, Cowper became acquainted with 
Lady Austin, whose brilliant wit and unrivalled conversa- 
tional powers, were admirably adapted to afford relief to a 
mind like his. This lady was introduced to the retired poet 
by her sister, the wife of a clergyman, who resided at Clif- 
ton, a mile distant from Olney, and who occasionally called 
upon Mrs. Unwin. Lady Austin came to pass some time with 
her sister, in the summer of 1781, and Mrs. Unwin, at Cow- 
per's request, invited the ladies to tea. So rnuch, however, 
was he averse to the company of strangers, that after he had 
occasioned the invitation, it was with considerable reluctance 
he was persuaded to join the party; but having at length 
overcome his feelings, he entered freely into conversation 
with Lady Austin, and derived so much benefit from her 
sprightly and animating discourse, that he from that time cul- 
tivated her acquaintance with the greatest attention. 

The opinion Cowper formed of this accomplished and ta- 
lented lady, may be ascertained by the following extracts 
from his letters :— " Lady Austin has paid us her first visit. 



w 



96 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



and not content with showing us that proof of her respect, 
made handsome apologies for her intrusion. She is a lively, 
agreeable woman ; has seen much of the ways of the worldj^ 
and accounts it a great simpleton, as it is. She laughs, an(f 
makes laugh, without seeming to labour at it. She he 
many features in her character which you must admire, bu^ 
one in particular, on account of the rarity of it, will en^ 
your attention and esteem. She has a degree of gratitude inj 
her composition, so quick a -sense of obligation, as is hardlj 
to be found in any rank of life. Discover but a wish 
please her, and she never forgets it; not only thanks youJ 
but the tears will start into her eyes at the recollection of the 
smallest service. With these fine feelings she has the most! 
harmless vivacity you can imagine : half an hour's conversa- 
tion with her will convince you that she is one of the most 
intelligent, pious, and agreeable ladies you ever met with." 
The following lines, part of a poetical epistle, addressed 
by Cowper to Lady Austin, will show how much he was de- 
lighted with his new friend : — 

"Dear Anna,— between friend and friend 
. Prose answers every common end; 

Serves, in a plain and homely way, 

To express the occurrence of the clay, 

Oui" health, the weathei", and the news, 

What viralks we take, what books we choose, 

And all the floating thoughts we find 

Upon the surface of the mind. 

But when a poet takes the pen. 

Far more alive than other men. 

He feels a gentle tingling come 

Down to his fingers and his thumb, 

Deriv'd from nature's noblest part. 

The centre of a glowing lieart! 

And this is what the world, who knows 

No flights above the pitch of prose. 

His more sublime vagaries slighting, 

Denominates an itch for writing. 

No wonder I, who scribble rhyme 

To catch the triflers of the time, 

And tell them ti'utbs divine and clear. 

Which couched in prose they will not hear, 

Should feel that itching and that tingling 

With all my purpose interminghng, 

To your intrinsic merit ti'ue. 

When call'd to addi'ess myself to you. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 97 

Mysterious are His ways whose power 
Brings forth that unexpected horn-, 
'VMien minds that never met before 
vShall meet, unite, and part no more: 
It is the allotment of the skies, 
The hand of the supremely wise. 
That guides and governs our affections. 
And plans and orders our connections. 
Directs us in our distant road, 
And marks the bounds of our abode. 
This page of Providence quite new, 
And now just opening to our view. 
Employs our present thoughts and pains, 
To guess and spell what it contains ; 
But day by day, and year by year. 
Will make the dark enigma clear, 
And furnish us, perhaps, at last. 
Like other scenes already past, 
A^'ith proof that we and our affairs 
Are part of a Jehovah's cares: 
For God unfolds by slow degrees 
The purport of his deep decrees. 
Sheds every hour a clearer light. 
In aid of our defective sight. 
And spreads, at length, before the soul, 
A beautiful and perfect whole. 
Which busy man's inventive brain 
Toils to anticipate in vain. 
Say, Anna, had you never known 
The beauties of a rose full blown; 
Could you, though luminous your eye. 
By looking on tlie bud descry. 
Or guess, with a prophetic power. 
The future splendour of the flower? 
Just so tlie Omnipotent, who turns 
The system of a world's concerns. 
From mere minutine can educe 
Events of most important use; 
And bid a dawning sky display 
The blaze of a meridian day. 
The works of man tend one and all. 
As needs they must, both great and small. 
And vanity absorbs at length 
The monuments of human strength; 
But who can tell how vast the plan 
Which this day's incident began? 
9 



98 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK, 

Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion 

For our dim-sighted observation; 

It pass'd unnoticed as the bird 

That cleaves the yielding air unheard. 

And yet may prove, when understood. 

An harbinger of endless good. 

Not that 1 deem or mean to call 

Priendship a blessing cheap or small. 

But merely to remark that ours. 

Like some of nature's sweetest flowers, 

Rose from a seed of tiny size 

That seemed to promise no such prize; 

A transient visit intervening, 

And made almost without a meaning, 

(Hardly the effect of inchnation. 

Much less of pleasing expectation!) 

Produced a friendship, then begun. 

That has cemented us in one, 

And placed it in our power to prove. 

By long fidelity and love. 

That Solomon has wisely spoken, 

' A thi'ee-fold cord is not soon broken.' " 

Lady Austin was not less delighted with her new acquaint- 
ance than Cowper and Mrs. Unwin were with her. She had 
previously determined to leave London, and had been look- 
ing out for a residence in the country, not far distant from his 
sister's. The house immediately adjoining; that in which 
Cowper resided, was at liberty; she accordingly hired it, 
and took possession of it in the course of the ensuing sum- 
mer. Cowper thus adverts to this circumstance, in a letter 
to Mr. Newton : — " A new scene is opening upon us, which, 
whether it perform what it promises, or not, will add fresh 
plumes to the wings of time, at least while it continues to be 
a subject of contemplation. Lady Austin, very desirous of 
retirement, especially of a retirement near her sister, an 
admirer of Mr. Scot as a preacher, and of your tAvo humble 
servants, myself and Mrs. Unwin, is come to a determina- 
tion to settle here ; and has chosen the house formerly occu- 
pied by you, for her future residence. I am highly pleased 
with the plan, upon Mrs. Unwin's account, who, since Mrs. 
Newton's departure, has been nearly destitute of all female 
connection, and has not, in any emergency, a woman to 
speak to. It has, in my view, and I doubt not it will have 
the same in yours, strong marks of a providential interposi- 
tion. A female friend, who bids fair to prove herself worthy 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 99 

•of the appellation, comes, recommended by a variety of con- 
siderations, to such a place as Olney. Since your removal, 
there was not in the kingdom a retirement more absolutely 
such than ours. We did not covet company, but when it 
came we found it agreeable. A person that understands the 
world well, has high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readi- 
ness of conversation, introduces a sprightliness into such a 
scene as this, which, if it was peaceful before, is not the 
worse for being a little enlivened. In case of illness too, to 
which we are all liable, it was rather a gloomy prospect, if 
we allowed ourselves to advert to it, that there was hardly a 
woman in the place from whom it would have been reasonable 
to have expected either comfort or assistance." 

Preparations were made at the vicarage for the reception 
of jjady Austin, and she took possession of it towards the 
close of 1782. Both Cowper and Mrs. Unwin were so 
charmed with her society, and she was so delighted with 
theirs, that it became their custom to dine together, at each 
other's houses, every alternate day. The effect of Lady Aus- 
tin's almost irresistible conversational powers proved highly 
beneficial to the poet's mind, and contributed to remove that 
painful depression of which he still continued to be the sub- 
ject ; and which would sometimes seize him when he was 
in her company : even with her unrivalled talents, she was 
scarcely able, at times, to remove the deep and melancholy 
gloom which still shed its darkening influence over his mind. 
On one occasion, when she observed him to be sinking in- 
to rather an unusual depression, she exerted, as she was 
invariably accustomed to do, her utmost ability to afford him 
immediate relief. It occurred to her she might then proba- 
bly accomplish it, by telling him a story of John Gilpin, 
which she had treasured up in her memory from her child- 
hood. The amusing incidents of the story itself, and the 
happy manner in which it was related, had the desired effect ; 
it dissipated the gloom of the passing hour, and he informed 
Lady Austin the next morning that convulsions of laughter, 
brought on by the recollection of her story, had kept him 
awake during the greater part of the night, and that he had 
composed a poem on the subject. Hence arose the fascinat- 
ing and amusing ballad of John Gilpin, which rapidly found 
its way into all the periodical publications of the day, and 
was admired by readers of every description. 

Its happy influence on his own mind on subsequent occa- 
sions is adverted to in the following letter to Mr. Unwin : — 
" You tell me that John Gilpin made you laugh tears, and 



100 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

that the ladies at court are delighted with my poems. Much 
good may they do them ; may they become as wise as the 
writer wishes them, and they will then be much happier than 
he ! I know there is, in the greater part of the poems which 
make up the volume, that wisdom which cometh from above, 
because it was from above that I received it. INIay they re- 
ceive it too ! for whether they drink it out of the cistern, or 
whether it falls upon them immediately from the clouds, as 
it did on me, it is all one. It is the water of life, which 
whosoever drinketb shall thirst no more. As to the famous 
horseman above mentioned, he and his feats are an inexhausti- 
ble source of amusement. At least we find them so : and 
seldom meet without refreshing ourselves with the recollection 
of them. You are perfectly at liberty to do with them as 
you please, and when printed send me a copy." 

Lady Austin's intercourse with Mrs. Unwin and Cowper 
continued, uninterrupted, till near the close of 1784; and 
during all this time, by her sprightly, judicious, and capti- 
vating conversation, she was often the means of rousing him 
from his melancholy depression. To console him, she would 
often exert her musical talents on the harpsichord ; and at 
her request, he composed, among others, the following beau- 
tiful song, suited to airs sh3 was accustomed to play : 

" No longei" I follow a sound. 
No longer a dream I pursue; 
O, happiness! not to be found, 
Unattainable treasure, adieu! 

I have sought thee In splendour and di-ess. 
In the regions of pleasure and taste; 
I have sought thee, and seemed to possess. 
But have proved thee a vision at last. 

An humble ambition and hope 
The voice of true wisdom inspires; 
'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope 
And the summit of all our desires. 

Peace may be the lot of the mind 
That seeks it in meekness and love; 
But rapture and bliss are confined 
To the glorified spirits above!" 

During the winter of 1783-4, Cowper spent the evenings 
in reading to these ladies, taking the liberty himself, and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 101 

affording the same to them, of making remarks on Avliat came 
under their notice. On these interesting occasions, Lady- 
Austin displayed her enchanting, and almost magical 
powers, with singular effect. The conversation happened 
one evening to turn on blank verse, of which she had always 
expressed herself to be passionately fond. Persuaded that 
Cowper was able to produce, in this measure, a poem, that 
would eclipse anything he had hitherto written, she urged 
him to try his powers in that species of composition. He 
had hitherto written only in rhyme, and he felt considerable 
reluctance to make the attempt. After repeated solicitations, 
however, he promised her, if she would furnish the subject, 
he would comply with her request. "Oh!" she replied, 
" you can never be in want of a subject, you can write upon 
anything ; write upon this sofa." The poet obeyed her com- 
mand, and the world, is thus indebted to this lady for The 
Task, a poem of matchless beauty and excellence, embracing 
almost every variety of style, and every description of sub- 
ject, combining elegance and ease, with sublimit)'- and gran- 
deur, adapted to impress the heart with sentiments of the 
most exalted piety, and to make its readers happy in the pre- 
sent life, while it excites in them earnest and longing desires 
after the felicity and glory of heaven. 

In composing this exquisite poem, however, it ought to be 
observed that Cowper had a higher object in view than 
merely to please Lady Austin. His great aim was to be use- 
ful ; and, indeed, this was his leading motive in all his pro- 
ductions, as is evident from the following extract from a let- 
ter to Mr. Unwin : "In some passages of the enclosed poem, 
which I send for your inspection, you will observe me very 
satirical, especially in my second book. Writing on such 
subjects I could not be otherwise. I can write nothing with- 
out aiming, at least, at usefulness. It were beneath my 
years to do it, and still more dishonourable to my religion. 
I know that a reformation of such abuses, as I have censured 
is not be expected from the efforts of a poet ; but to contem- 
plate the world, its follies, its vices, its indifference to duty, 
and its strenuous attachment to what is evil, and not to re- 
prehend it, were to approve it. From this charge at least I 
shall be clear, for I have neither, tacitly, nor expressly, flat- 
tered either its characters or its customs. My principal pur- 
pose has been, to allure the reader by character, by scenerj'^, 
by imagery, and such poetical embellishments, to the read- 
ing of what may profit him. Subordinately to this, to com- 
bat that predilection in favour of a metropolis, that beggars 
9* 



102 THE LIFE OF WILLIAJVI COWPER. 

and exhausts the countrj', by evacuating it of all its princi^ 
pal inhabitants ; and collaterally, and as far as is consistent 
with this double intention, to have a stroke at vice, vanity,! 
and folly wherever I find them. What there is of a religioual 
cast, in the volume, I have thrown towards the end of it, fori 
two reasons ; first, that I might not revolt the reader at hisl 
entrance ; and, secondly, that my best impressions might bej 
made last. Were I to write as many volumes as Lopez dej 
Vega, or Voltaire, not one of them would be without this 
tincture. If the world like it not, so much the worse fo^ 
them. I make all the concessions I can that I may please 
them, but I will not do this at the expense of my conscience^ 
My descriptions are all from nature, not one of them second- 
handed. ]My delineations of the heart are from my own ex-j 
perience ; not one of them borrowed from books, or in the 
least degree conjectural." 

The close of the year 1784, witnessed the completion oi 
this extensive performance, and the commencement of an- 
other of greater magnitude, though of a different description,] 
and less adapted for general usefulness, the translation 
Homer ; undertaken at the united request of Mrs. Unwin an<3 
Lady Austin. This was a remarkable period in Cowper's] 
life. Circumstances arose, altogether unforeseen by him, and 
over which he had no control, which led to the removal of 
Ladj- Austin from Olney. He had so often been benefitedj 
b)^ her company, had in so many instances been cheered b] 
her vivacity when suffering under the influence of his de- 
pressive maladj', and had received such repeated proofs of" 
affability and kindness, that he could not entertain the thought 
of parting with her without considerable disquietude. Im- 
mediately, however, on perceiving that separation became 
requisite for the maintenance of his own peace, as well as to 
ensure the tranquillity of his faithful and long-tried inmate, 
Mrs. Unwin, he wisely and firmly, took such steps as were 
necessary to promote it, though it was at the expense of 
much mental anguish. 

Some of Cowper's biographers have, unjustly, and with- 
out the slightest foundation, attempted to cast considerable 
odium upon the character of Mrs. Unwin, for her conduct in 
this affair, as if all the blame of Cowper's separation from 
Lady Austin were to be laid at her door. One has even 
gone so far as to state, that her mind was of such a sombre 
hue, that it rather tended to foster, than to dissipate, Cow- 
per's melancholy. An assertion utterly incapable of proof, 
and which, were the poet living, he would be the first to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 103 

deny. The fact is, that Cowper never felt any other attach- 
ment to either of these ladies than that of pure friendship, 
and much as he valued the society of Lady Austin, when he 
found it necessary, for his own peace, to choose which he 
should please to retain, he could not hesitate for a moment 
to prefer the individual Avho had watched over him with so 
much tenderness, and probably to the injury of her own 
health. The whole of his conduct in this affair, and indeed, 
the manner in which he has everywhere spoken of his faith- 
ful inmate, proves this indubitably. 

Aware of the benefit he had received from Lady Austin's 
company, many of his friends wrtp, apprehensive that her 
removal would be attended with consequences seriously in- 
jurious to the poet. Deep, however, as was the impression 
which it made upon his mind, he bore it with much more for- 
titude than could have been expected, as will be seen by the 
manner in which he adverted to it in a letter to Mr. Hill : — 
" We have, as you say, lost a lively and sensible neighbour 
in Lady Austin, but we have been so long accustomed to a 
state of retirement, within one degree of solitude, and being 
naturally lovers of still life, we can relapse into our former 
duality without being unhappy in the change. To me, in- 
deed, a third individual is not necessary, while I can have 
the faithful companion I have had these twenty years." 

It might be imagined, from the production of Cowper's 
pen at this period, that he was entirely recovered from his 
depressive malady ; such, however, was far from the case. 
His letters to his correspondents prove, that whatever gaiety 
and vivacity there was in his writings, there was nothing in 
his own state of mind that bore any resemblance to such 
emotions; but that, on the contrary, his fits of melancholy 
were frequent, and often painfully acute. To his friend, Mr. 
Newton, he thus feelingly discloses his peculiarly painful 
sensations : — "My heart resembles not the heart of a Chris- 
tian, mourning and yet rejoicing, pierced with thorns, yet 
wreathed about with roses ; I have the thorn without the 
rose. My brier is a wintry one, the flowers are withered, 
but the thorn remains. My days are spent in vanity, and it 
is impossible for me to spend them otherwise. No man 
upon earth is more sensible of the unprofitableness of such a 
life as mine than I am, or groans more heavily under the 
burden ; but this too is vanity : my groans will not bring the 
remedy, because there is no remedy for me. I have been 
lately more dejected and more depressed than usual; more 
harassed by dreams in the night, and more deeply poisoned 



104 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

by them in the following day. 1 know not what is portend- 
ed by an alteration for the worse after eleven years of mise- 
ry; but firmly believe, that it is not designed as the introduc-s 
tion of a change for the better. You knoAV not what I suffer- 
ed while you were here, nor was there any need you should. 
Your friendship for me would have made you in some degree 
a partaker of my woes, and your share in them would have 
been increased by your inability to help me. Perhaps, in4 
deed, they took a keener edge, from the consideration o^ 
your presence. The friend of my heart, the person with 
whom I had formerly taken sweet counsel, no longer useful 
to me as a minister, no longer pleasant to me as a ChristianjI 
was a spectacle which must necessarily add the bitterness oj 
mortification to the sadness of despair. I now see a Ions 
winter before me, and am to get through it as I can ; I kno\ 
the ground before I tread upon it. It is hollow ; it is agi- 
tated ; it suffers shocks in every direction ; it is like the soill 
of Calabria — all whirlpool and undulation; but I must reelj 
through it, at least if I be not swallowed up by the way. ij 
have taken leave of the old year, and parted with it just wheM 
you did, but with very different sentiments and feelings upon! 
the occasion. I looked back upon all the passages and oc- 
currences of it as a traveller looks back upon a wilderness,] 
through which he has passed with weariness and sorrow oi 
heart, reaping no other fruit of his labour than the poor con- 
solation, that, dreary as the desert was, he left it all behind 
him. The traveller would find even this comfort considera- 
blj' lessened, if, as soon as he passed one wilderness, he had 
to traverse another of equal length, and equally desolate. In 
this particular his experience and mine Avould exactly tally. 
I should rejoice indeed that the old year is over and gone, if 
I had not every reason to expect a new one similar to it. 
Even the new year is already old in my account. I am not, 
indeed, sufficiently second-sighted, to be able to boast, by 
anticipation, an acquaintance with the events of it j^et un- 
born, but rest assured that, be they what they may, not one 
of them comes a messenger of good to me. If even death 
itself should be of the number, he is no friend of mine ; it is 
an alleviation of the woes, even of an unenlightened man, that 
he can wish for death, and indulge a hope, at least, that in 
death he shall find deliverance. But, loaded as my life is 
with despair, I have no such comfort as would result from a 
probability of better things to come were it once ended. I 
am far more unhappy than the traveller I have j ust referred 
to ; pass through whatever difficulties, dangers, or afflictions, 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 105 

I may, I am not a whit nearer home, unless a dungeon be 
called so. This is no very agreeable theme, but in so great 
a dearth of subjects to write upon, and especially impressed 
as I am at this moment with a sense of my own condition, I 
could choose no other. The weather is an exact emblem of 
my mind in its present state. A thick fog envelopes every 
thing, and at the same time it freezes intensely. You will 
tell me, that this cold gloom will be succeeded by a cheerful 
spring, and endeavour to encourage me to hope for a spiritual 
change resembling it, but it will be lost labour. Nature re- 
vives again ; but a soul once slain lives no more. The hedge 
that has been apparently dead is not so : it will burst into 
leaf, and blossom at the appointed time, but no such time is 
appointed for the stake that stands in it. It is as dead as it 
seems, and will prove itself no dissembler. The latter end 
of next month will complete a period of eleven years, in 
which I have spoken no other language. It is a long time 
for a man, whose eyes were once opened, to spend in dark- 
ness ; long enough to make despair an inveterate habit ; and 
such it is to me. My friends, I know, expect that I shall yet 
enjoy health again. They think it necessary to the exist- 
ence of divine truth, that he who once had possession of it 
should never finally lose it. T admit t.hp. solidity of this rea- 
soning in every case but my own, and why not in my own ? 
For causes which to them it appears madness to allege, but 
which rest upon my mind, with a weight of immovable con- 
viction. If I am recoverable, why am I thus ] why crippled, 
and made useless in the church, just at the time of life when 
my judgment and experience, being matured, I might be most 
useful. Why cashiered, and turned out of service, till ac- 
cording to the course of years, there is not life enough left in 
me to make amends for the years I have lost ; till there is no 
reasonable hope left that the fruit can ever pay the expense 
of the fallow % I forestall the answer — God's ways are mys- 
terious, and he giveth no account of his matters — an answer 
that would serve my purpose as well as theirs that use it. 
There is a mystery in my destruction, and in time it will be 
explained. 

"I could easily, were it not a subject that would make us 
melancholy, point out to you some essential difference be- 
tween the state of the person you mentioned and my own, 
which would prove mine to be by far the most deplorable of 
the two. I suppose no man would despair if he did not ap- 
prehend something singular in the circumstances of his own 
story, something that discriminates it from that of every 



106 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

other man, and that induces despair as an inevitable conse»l 
quence. You may encounter his unhappy persuasion with asl 
many instances as you please, of persons who, like liimtj 
having renounced all hope, were yet restored, and may thence 
infer That he, like them, shall meet with a season of restora*; 
tion — ^but it is in vain. Every such individual accounts him- 
self an exception to all rules, and, therefore, the blessed" 
reverse that others haA^e experienced, affords no ground of 
comfortable expectation to him. But you Avill say, it is 
reasonable to conclude that as all your predecessors in this 
vale of misery and horror have found themselves delightfully 
disappointed, so may j'ou. I grant the reasonableness of it ; 
it would be sinful, perhaps, as well as uncharitable to reason 
otherwise ; but an argument hypothetical in its nature, how- 
ever rationally conducted, may lead to a false conclusion ; 
and in this instance so will yours. But I forbear, and will 
say no more, though it is a subject on which I could write 
more than the mail could carry. I must deal with )'ou as I 
deal with poor Mrs. Unwin, in all our disputes about it. Cut- 
ting all controversy short by the event." 

To a request from Mr. NeAvton that Cowper would favour 
the editor of the Theological Magazine with an occasional 
essa}'-, he thus wTites: — " I converse, 5'ou say, upon other 
subjects than that of despair, and may therefore vrcite upon 
others. Indeed, my friend, I am a man of very little con- 
versation upon any subject. From that of despair, I abstain 
as much as possible, for the sake of my company, but I will 
venture to say that it is never out of my mind one minute in 
the whole day. I do not mean to say that I am never cheer- 
ful. I am often so ; always, indeed, when my lughts have 
been undisturbed for a season. But the effect of such con- 
tinual listening to the language of a heart hopeless and de- 
serted, is, that I can never give much more than half^my at- 
tention to what is started by others, and very rarely start 
anything myself. You will easily perceive that a mind thus 
occupied, is but indifferently qualified for the consideration 
of theological matters. The most useful, and the m.ost de- 
lightful topics of that kind, are to me forbidden fruit ; I trem- 
ble as I approach them. It has happened to me sometimes 
that I have found myself imperceptibly drawn in and made 
a party in such discourse. The consequence has been dissa- 
tisfaction and self-reproach. You will tell me, perhaps, that 
I have written upon those subjects in verse, and may there- 
fore in prose. But there is a difference. The search after 
poetical expression, the rhymes, and the numbers, are all af- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 107 

fairs of some difficulty, they amuse indeed, but are not to be 
attained without study, and engross, perhaps, a larger share 
of the attention than the subject itself." 

In the spring of 1785, his friends became more sanguine in 
their expectations of his ultimate recovery, and they felt per- 
suaded, it would take place at no very distant period. It ap- 
pears also, by the following extract, that Cowper was not 
himself, wholly destitute of hope, on the subject. Writing 
to Mr. NeAvton, he says : — " I am sensible of the tenderness 
and affectionate kindness with which you recollect our past 
intercourse, and express your hopes of my future restoration. 
I too, within the last eight months, have had my hopes, 
though they have been of short duration, cut off; like the 
foam upon the waters. Some previous adjustments, indeed 
are necessary before a lasting expectation of comfort can take 
place in me. There are those persuasions in my mind, 
which either entirely forbid the entrance of hope, or, if it 
enter, immediately eject it. They are incompatible with any 
such inmate, and must be turned out themselves before so 
desirable a guest can possibly have secure possession. This 
you say, will be done. It may be; but it is not done yet ; 
nor has a single step in the course of God's dealings with 
me been taken towards it. If I mend, no creature ever mend- 
ed so slowly, that recovered at last. I am like a slug, or a 
snail, that has fallen into a deep well; slug as he is, he per- 
forms his descent with a velocity proportioned to his n-eight ; 
but he does not crawl up again quite so fast. Mine was a 
rapid plunge; but my return to daylight, if I am indeed re- 
turning, is leisurely enough. Were I such as I once was, I 
should say that I have a claim upon your particular notice, 
which nothing ought to supercede. Most of your connec- 
tions j'ou may fairly be said to have formed by j'our own act ; 
but your connection with me was the work of God. The 
kine that went up with the ark from Bathshemesh, left what 
they loved behind them, in obedience to an impression which 
to them was perfectly dark and unintelligible. Your jour- 
ney to Huntingdon was not less wonderful. He indeed, who 
sent you, knew well wherefore, but you knew not. That 
dispensation, therefore, would furnish me as long as we can 
both remember it, with a plea for some distinction at your 
hands, had I occasion to use and urge it, which I have not. 
But I am altered since that time ; and if your affection for 
me had ceased, you might very reasonably justify your 
change by mine. I can say nothing for myself at present : 
but this I can venture to foretell, that should the restoration 



108 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

of which my friends assure me obtain, I shall undoubtedly 
love those who have continued to love me, even in a state 
of transformation from my former self, much more than 
ever." 

It is gratifying to know, that, while such was the melan- 
choly state of Cowper's mind, and while he steadily refused 
all religious comfort, come whence it might, he nevertheless 
afforded the most pleasing proofs by his amiable and consis- 
tent conduct, of the firm hold which religion still had of his 
aifections. The excellent remarks that are to be found in his 
letters, written at this period, show that he had some lucid 
intervals, and that occasional gleams of light shot across the 
darkened horizon of his mind. " It strikes me," (he says on 
one occasion,) "as a very observable instance of providential 
kindness to man, that such an exact accordance had been con- 
trived between his ear and the sounds with which, at least in 
a rural situation, it is almost every moment visited. All the 
world is sensible of the uncomfortable effect that certain 
sounds have upon the nerves, and consequently upon the spi- 
rits : and if a sinful world had been filled with such as would 
have curdled the blood, and have made the sense of hearing 
a perpetual inconvenience, I do not know that we should 
have had a right to complain. But now the fields, the woods, 
and the gardens, have each their concerts, and the ear of man 
is for ever regaled by creatures, who, while they please 
themselves, at the same time delight him. Even the ears 
that are deaf to the gospel, are continually entertained, 
though without appreciating it, by sounds, for which they 
are solely indebted to its author. There is somewhere in in- 
finite space, a world that does not roll within the precincts 
of mercy, and as it is reasonable, and even scriptural to sup- 
pose, that there is music in heaven, in these dismal regions 
perhaps the reverse of it is found ; tones so dismal, as to 
make woe itself more insupportable, and even to acuminate 
despair." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, the following serious reflections 
occur : — " People that are but little acquainted with the ter- 
rors of divine wrath, are not much afraid of trifling with their 
Maker. But for my own part, I would sooner take Emple- 
docles' leap, and fling myself into mount Etna, than I would 
do it in the slightest instance, were I in circumstances to 
make an election. In the scripture we find a broad and clear 
exhibition of mercy, it is displayed in every page. Wrath 
is in comparison, but slightly touched upon, because it is not 
so much a discovery of wrath as of forgiveness. But had 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 109 

the displeasure of God been the principal subject of the book, 
and had it circumstantially set forth that measure of it only 
which may be endured in this life, the Christian world 
would perhaps, have been less comfortable; but I believe 
presumptuous meddlers with the gospel would have been 
less frequently met with." 

To Mr. Unwin he thus writes : " Take my word for it, 
the word of a man singularly qualilled to give his evidence in 
this matter, who having enjoyed the privilege some years, 
has been deprived of it more, and has no hope that he shall 
live to recover it. Those that have found a God, and are per^ 
mitted to worship him, have found a treasure, of which, 
highly as they may prize it, they have but very scanty and 
limited conceptions. These are my Sunday morning specu- 
lations — the sound of the bells suggested them, or rathei 
gave them such an emphasis, that they force their way into 
my pen in spite of me ; for though I do not often commit 
them to paper, they are never absent from my mind." 

" You express sorrow, that your love of Christ was ex- 
cited in j'ou, by a picture. Could the most insignificant 
thing suggest to me the thought that Christ is precious, I 
would not despise the thought. The meanness of the instru- 
ment cannot debase the nobleness of the principle. He that 
kneels to a picture of Christ is an idolater ; but he in whose 
heart, the sight of such a picture kindles a warm remem- 
brance of the Saviour's suffering, must be a Christian. Sup- 
pose that I dream as Gardiner did, that Christ walks before me, 
that he turns and smiles upon me, and fills ray soul with in- 
effable love and joy. Will a man tell me that I am deceived, 
that I ought not to love or rejoice in him for such a reason, 
because a dream is merely a picture drawn upon the imagi- 
nation 1 1 hold not with such divinity. To love Christ is 
the greatest dignity of man, be that affection wrought in him 
how it may." 

No person ever formed more correct views of what really 
constitutes Christianity than Cowper, nor could an}"^ one ever 
feel a greater aversion to a mere profession of it. In a letter 
to one of his correspondents, the following remarks occur : " I 
say amen, with all my heart, to your ol)servations on reli- 
gious characters. Men who profess themselves adepts in 
mathematical knowledge, in astronomy, or jurisprudence, are 
generally as well qualified as they would appear. The rea- 
son may be, that they are always liable to detection, should 
they attempt to impose upon mankind, and therefore take 
care to be what they pretend. In religion alone, a profes- 
10 



110 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

sion is often slightly taken up, and slovenly carried on, be- 
cause forsooth, candour and charity require us to hope the 
best, and to judge favourably of our neighbour ; and because 
it is easy to deceive the ignorant, who are a great majority, 
upon this subject. Let a man attach himself to a particular 
party, contend furiously for what are properly called evan- 
gelical doctrines, and enlist himself under the banner of 
some popular preacher, and the business is done. Behold a 
Christian ! a saint ! a phoenix ! In the meantime perhaps 
his heart, his temper, and even his conduct, is unsanctified ; 
possibly less exemplary than that of some avowed infidels. 
No matter, he can talk, he has the Bible in his pocket, and a 
head well stored with notions. But the quiet, humble, 
modest, and peaceable person, who is in his practice what 
the other is only in his profession, who hates a noise about 
religion, and therefore makes none, who, knowing the snares 
that are in the world, keeps himself as much out of it as he 
can, and never enters it but when duty calls, and even then 
with fear and trembling — is the Christian that will always 
stand highest in the estimation of those who bring all cha- 
racters to the test of true wisdom, and judge of the tree by 
its fruits." 

In another letter, on a similar subject, he thus writes : — 
" It is indeed a melancholy consideration, that the gospel, 
whose direct tendency is to promote the happiness of man- 
kind in the present, as well as in the life to come, which so 
effectually answers the design of its author, whenever it is 
well understood and sincerely believed, should, through the 
ignorance, the bigotry, the superstition of its professors, and 
the ambition of popes and princes, have produced inciden- 
tally so much mischief; only furnishing the world with a 
plausible pretext to worry each other, while the}- sanctified 
the worst cause with the specious pretext of zeal, for the fur- 
therance of the best. Angels descend from heaven to pub- 
lish peace between man and his xMaker — the Prince of Peace 
himself comes to confirm and establish it ; and war, hatred, 
and desolation are the consequence. Thousands quarrel 
about the interpretation of a book, which none of them un- 
derstand. He that is slain, dies firmly persuaded that the 
crown of martyrdom awaits him ; he that slew him, is 
equally convinced that he has done God service. In reality 
they are both mistaken and equally unentitled to the honour 
they have arrogated to themselves. If a multitude of blind 
men should set out for a certain city, and dispute about the 
right road till a battle ensued between them, the probable effect 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Ill 

would be that none of them would ever reach it : and such a 
fray, preposterous and shocking in the extreme, would exhi- 
bit a picture in some degree resembling the original of which 
we have been speaking. And why is not the world thus oc- 
cupied at present 1 only because they have exchanged a zeal 
that was no better than madness for an indifference equally 
pitiable and absurd. The holy sepulchre has lost its import- 
ance in Jhe eyes of nations, called Christians, not because 
the light of true wisdom has delivered them from a supersti- 
tious attachment to the spot, but because he that was buried 
in it is no longer regarded by them as the Saviour of the 
world. The exercise of reason, enlightened by philosophy, 
has cured them indeed of the misery of an abused understand- 
ing, but together with the delusion they have lost the sub- 
stance, and for the sake of the lies that were grafted upon it, 
have quarrelled with the truth itself. Here then we see the 
nephfs uhra of human wisdom, at least in affairs of religion. 
It enlightens the mind with respect to non-essentials, but 
with respect to that in which the essence of Christianity 
consists, leaves it perfectly in the dark. It can discover 
many errors that in different ages have disgraced the faith, 
but it is only to make way for one more fatal than them all, 
which represents that faith as a delusion. Why those evils 
have been permitted shall be known hereafter. One thing, 
in the meantime, is certain, that the folly and frenzy of the 
professed disciples of the gospel, have been more dangerous 
to its interests, than all the avowed hostilities of its adver- 
saries, and perhaps for this cause, these mischiefs might be 
suffered to prevail for a season, that its divine original and 
nature might be the more illustrated, when it should appear 
that it was able to stand its ground for ages, against that 
most formidable of all attacks — the indiscretion of its friends. 
The outrages that have followed this perversion of the truth, 
have proved, indeed a stumbling-block to individuals ; the 
wise of this world, with all their wisdom, have not been able 
to distinguish between the blessing and the abuse of it. Vol- 
taire was offended, and Gibbon has turned his back, but the 
flock of Christ is still nourished, and still increases, not- 
withstanding the unbelief of a philosopher is able to convert 
bread into a stone, and fish into a serpent." 

The following very serious reflections occur, in a letter to 
Mr. Newton, about this time, adverting to the sufferings of 
the poor at Olney, whose distressing circumstances on all 
occasions excited the tenderest sympathies of the poet : — 
*' The winter sets in with great severity. The rigour of the 



112 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

season, and the advanced price of provisions, are very threat- 
ening to the poor. It is well with those that can feed upon 
a promise and wrap themselves up warm in the rohe of sal- 
vation. A g-ood fire-side and a well-spread table are but in- 
different substitutes for these better accommodations ; so very 
indifferent, that I would gladly exchange them both for the 
rags and the unsatisfied hunger of the poorest creature, that 
looks forward with tlie hope to a better world, and weeps 
tears of joy in the midst of penury and distress. What a 
a world is this ! How myteriously governed, and, in appear- 
ance, left to itself. One man, having squandered thousands 
at a gaming-table, finds it convenient to travel ; gives his 
estate to somebody to manage for him ; amuses himself a few 
years in France and Italy ; returns, perhaps, wiser than he 
went, having acquired knowledge, which, but for his follies, 
he would never have acquired ; again makes a sj)lendid 
figure at home, shines in the senate, governs his country as 
its minister, is admired for his abilities, and if successful, 
adored, at least by a party. When he dies he is praised as 
a demigod, and his monument records everything but his 
vices. The exact contrast of such a picture is to be found 
in many cottages at ^Inc}''. I have no need to describe them, 
you know the characters I mean ; they love God, they trust 
him, they pray to him in secret, and though he means to 
reward them openly, the day of recompense is delayed. In 
the meantime they suffer ever3'thing that infirmity and 
poverty can inflict upon them. Who would suspect, that 
has not a spiritual eye to discern it, that the fine gentleman 
might possibly hg one whom his Maker had in abhorrence, 
and the wretch last mentioned, dear to him as the apple of 
his eye 1 It is no wonder that the world, who only look at 
things as they are connected with the present life, find them- 
selves obliged, some of them at least, to doubt a providence, 
and others absolutely to deny it : when almost all the real 
virtue there is to be found in it, exists in a state of neglected 
obscurity, and all the vices cannot exclude them from the 
privilege of worship and honour. But behind the curtain the 
matter will be explained ; very little, hoAvever, to the satis- 
faction of the great." 



( 113 ) 



CHAPTER X. 



Publication of Cowper^s second volume of poems — Manner in 
which it was received by the public — His feelings on the occa- 
sion — Great self-abasement — Renewal of his correspondence 
with Lady Hesketh — acceptance of her proffered assistance — 
Her projected visit to Olney — Cowper^s pleasing anticipations 
of its results — Her arrival — Cowper^s removal from Olney to 
Weston — His intimacy ivith the Throckmortons — Happiness 
it afforded him. 

Cowper's second volume of poems, the publication of 
which had been delayed much longer than was expected, ap- 
peared, at length, in the summer of 1785. His first volume, 
though it had not met with that success which might have 
been expected, had nevertheless, been extensively circulated, 
and was spoken of highly by some of the first literary charac- 
ters of the age. It had, therefore, raised the expectations of 
the public and had thus made way for its successor, which 
no sooner made its appearance than it was eagerly sought 
after, and met with a rapid and extensive sale. High as had 
been the expectations of his friends, they fell far short of 
what he had accomplished in that brilliant display of real po- 
etical talent everywhere to be found in the Task. The sin- 
gularity of the title made its first appearance somewhat .re- 
pulsive ; its various and matchless beauties were however 
soon discovered, and it speedily raised the reputation of Cow- 
per to the highest summit of poetic genius, and placed him 
among the first class of poets. 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, he describes his feelings on this 
occasion, in such a manner as proves him to have been influ- 
enced by notiiing like selfish or ambitious motives ; but by 
principles far more noble and exalted ; — " I found your ac- 
count of what you experienced in your state of maiden au- 
thorship very entertaining, because very natural. I suppose 
no man ever made his first sally from the press without a con- 
viction that all eyes and ears would be engaged to attend him, 
at least without a thousand anxieties lest they should not. — 
But, however arduous and interesting such an enterprise may 
10* 



114 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. 

be in the first instance, it seems to me that our feelings on^ 
the occasion soon become obtuse. I can answer at least for 
one. Mine are by no means what they were when I pub- 
lished my first volume. I am even so indifferent to the mat- 
ter, that I can truly assert myself guiltless of the very idea 
of my book sometimes for whole days together. God knows 
that my mind having been occupied more than twelve years 
in the contemplation of the most distressing subjects, the 
world, and its opinion of what I write, is become as unim- 
portant to me as the whistling of a bird in a bush. Despair 
made amusement necessary, and I found poetry the most 
agreeable amusement. Had I not endeavoured to perform my 
best, it would not have amused me at all. The mere blotting^ 
of so much paper would have been but indifferent sport. God 
gave me grace also to wish that 1 might not write in vain. 
Accordingly I have mingled much truth with Some trifle; 
and such truths as deserved at least to be clad as well and as 
handsomely as I could clothe them. If the world approve me 
not, So much the worse for them, but not for me, I have only 
endeavoured to serve them, and the loss will be their own. 
And as to their commendations, if I should chance to win 
them, I feel myself equally invulnerable there. The view 
that I have had of myself, for many years, has been so truly 
humiliating, that I think the praises of all mankind could not 
hurt me. God knows that I speak my present sense of the 
matter at least most truly, wdien I say, that the admiration of 
creatures like myself seems to me a weapon the least dan- 
gerous that my worst enemy could employ against me. I am 
fortified against it by such solidity of real self-abasement, 
that I deceive myseli" most egregiously, if I do not heartily 
despise it. Praise belongeth to God : and I seem to myself 
to covet it no more than I covet divine honours. Could I as- 
suredly hope that God wouldat last deliver me, I should have 
reason to thank him for all that I have suffered, were it only 
for the sake of this single fruit of my affliction — that it has 
taught me how much more contemptible I am in myself than 
I ever before suspected, and has reduced my former share of 
self-know'ledge (of which at that time I had a tolerable good 
opinion) to a mere nullity, in comparison to what I have ac- 
quired since. Self is a subject of inscrutable misery and mis- 
chief, and can never be studied to so much advantage as in 
the dark; for as the bright beams of the sun seems to impart 
a beauty to the most unsiglitly objects, so the light of God's 
countenance, vouchsafed to a fallen creature, so sweetens him 
and softens him for the time, that he seems both to others and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 115 

to himself, to have nothing selfish or sordid about him. But 
the heart is a nest of serpents, and will be such while it con- 
tinues to beat. If God cover the mouth of that nest with his 
hand, they are hush and snug ; but if he withdraw his hand 
the whole family lift up their heads and hiss, and are as ac- 
tive and venomous as ever. This I always professed to be- 
lieve from the time that I had embraced the truth, but I ne- 
ver knew it as I know it now. To what end I have been 
made to know it as I do, whether for the benefit of others or 
for my own, or for both, or for neither, will appear hereafter." 
While Cowper looked upon his publication with so much 
indifference, his friends regarded it with very opposite feel- 
ings. Its rapid and extensive circulation, not only delighted 
those who were intimately associated with him, and had been 
witnesses to the acute anguish of his mind, during his de- 
pressive malady, but it also gratified several of his former as- 
sociates and correspondents, and induced them to renew their 
communications with the poet. Among these was Lady 
Hesketh, who was so charmed with productions of his pen, that 
on her return from abroad, where she had spent several years 
with her husband, she renewed her correspondence with Cow- 
per, and as she was now a widow and was handsomely pro- 
vided for, she generously offered to render him any assist- 
ance he might want. Cowper's reply to an affectionate letter 
she wrote him, shows the warmth of his affection towards 
those whom he loved. He thus writes : — " My dear Cousin, 
It is no new thing for you to give pleasure. But I will ven- 
ture to say that you do not often give more than j^ou gave me 
this morning. When I came down to breakfast and found on 
the table, a letter franked by my uncle, and when opening that 
frank, I found that it contained a letter from yon, I said with- 
in myself. This is just as it should be. We are all grown 
young again, and the days that I thought I should see no 
more, are actually returned. You perceive, therefore, that 
you judged well when you conjectured that a line from you 
would not be disagreeable to me. It could not be otherwise 
than as in fact it has proved, a most agreeable surprise. For 
I can truly boast of an affection for you that neither years nor 
intercepted interoourse have at all abated. I need only recol- 
lect how much I valued you once, and with how much cause, 
immediately to feel a revival of the same value ; if that can 
be said to revive, which at the most has only been dormant for 
want of employment. But I slander it when I say that it has 
slept. A thousand times have I recollected a thousand scenes, 
in which our two selves have formed the whole of the drama, 



116 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

with the greatest pleasure at times too, when I had no reason 
to suppose that I should ever hear from you again. The 
hours that I have spent with you, were among the pleasant- 
est of my former days, and are therefore chronicled in my 
mind so deeply as to fear no erasure. You say that you have 
often heard of me ; that puzzles me. I cannot imagine from 
what quarter ; but it is no matter. I must tell you however, 
my dear cousin, that j^our information has been a little defec- 
tive. That I am happy in my situation is true ; I live, and 
have lived these twenty years, with Mrs. Unwin, to whose 
affectionate care of me, during the far greater part of that time, 
it is, under Divine Providence owing that I live at all. But 
I do not account myself happy in having been for thirteen of 
those years in a state of mind that has made all that care and 
attention necessary. An attention and a care, that have in- 
jured her health, and which, had she not been uncommonly 
supported, must have brought her to the grave. But I will 
pass to another subject ; it would be cruel to particularize 
only to give pain, neither should I by any means give a sable 
hue to the first letter of a correspondence so unexpectedly re- 
newed. I must, however, tell j"Ou, my dear cousin, that de- 
jection of spirits, which I suppose, may have prevented many 
a man from becoming an author has made me one. I find 
constant employment necessary, and therefore take care to be 
constantly employed. Manual occupations do not engage 
the mind sufficiently, as I know by experience, having tried 
many. But composition, especially of verse, absorbs it 
wholly. I write therefore generally three hours in the morn- 
ing, and in the evening I transcribe. I read also, but less 
than I write, for I must have bodily exercise, and therefore 
never pass a day -without it. 

" I do not seek new friends, not being altogether sure that 
I should find them, but have unspeakable pleasure in being 
beloved by an old one. 1 hope that our correspondence has 
now suffered its last interruption, and that we shall go down 
together to the grave, chattering and ciiirping as happily as 
such a scene as this will permit. I am happy that my poems 
have pleased you. My volume has afforded me no such plea- 
sure at any time, either while I was writing it, or since its 
publication, as I have derived from yours and my uncle's fa- 
vourable opinion respecting it. I make certain allowances 
for partiality, and for that peculiar quickness of taste, with 
which you both relish what you like, and after all drawbacks 
upon those accounts, duly made, find mji^self rich in the mea- 
sure of your approbation, that still remains. But above all 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 117 

I honour John Gilpin, since it was he who first encouraged 
you to write. I made him on purpose to laugh at, and he 
served his purpose well ; but I am now indebted to him for a 
more valuable acquisition than all the laughter in the world 
amounts to, the recovery of my intercourse with you, which 
is to me inestimable. I am glad that I always loved you as 
I did. It releases me from any occasion to suspect that my 
present alfection for you is indebted for its existence to any 
selfish considerations. No, I am sure I love you disinterest- 
edly, and for your own sake, because I never thought of you 
with any other sensations, than those of the truest affection, 
even while I was under the persuasion, that I should never 
hear from you again. But with my present feelings superadd- 
ed to those that I always had for you, I find it no easy mat- 
ter to do justice to my sensations. I perceive m3'^self in a 
state of mind, similar to that of the traveller described in 
Pope's Messiah, who, as he passes through a sandy desert, 
starts at the sudden and unexpected sound of a water-fall. — 
Your very generous offer of assistance has placed me in a si- 
tuation new to me, and in which I feel myself somewhat puz- 
zled how to behave. When I was once asked if I wanted 
anything, and given delicately to understand that the in- 
quirer was ready to supply all my occasions, I thankfully 
and civilly, but positively declined the favour. I neither suf- 
fer nor have suffered such inconveniences, as I had not much 
rather endure, than come under an obligation to a person, 
who is almost a stranger to me. But to you I answer other- 
wise. I know you thoroughly, and the liberality of your dis- 
position, and have that consummate confidence in the since- 
rity of your wish to serve me, that delivers me from all 
awkward constraint, and from all fear of trespassing by ac- 
ceptance. To you therefore I reply, yes. Whensoever and 
whatsoever, and in what manner soever, you please, and add 
moreover, that my affection for the giver is such as will in- 
crease to me tenfold the satisfaction I shall have in receiving. 
You must not, however, strain any points to your own incon- 
venience or hurt; there is no need of it; but indulge your- 
self in communicating (no matter what) that you can spare 
without missing it. since by so doing you will be sure to add 
to the comforts of my life, one of the sweetest that I can enjoy 
— a token and a proof of your affection. At the same time 
that I would not grieve you by putting a check upon your 
bounty, I would be as careful not to abuse it, as if I were a 
miser, and the question were, not about your money but ray 
own." 



118 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

The happiest consequences resulted from the renewal o| 
Cowper's correspondence with this accomplished and excel- 
lent lady. After an interchange of some of the most inte-« 
resting letters that were ever written, she proposed at lengtlvj 
to pay the sequestered poet a visit at Olney, and made ar- 
rangements accordingly. The following extracts from Cow-i 
per's letters to her on this occasion will be read with plea-'j 
sure, as a faithful record of the delight he anticipated from,] 
this interview: — "I have been impatient to tell you, that I 
am impatient to see you again. Mrs. Unwin partakes with 
me in all my feelings. Let me assure you, that your kind- 
ness in promising us a visit, has charmed us both. I shall 
see you again, I shall hear your voice. We shall take walks 
together. I will show you my prospects — the hovel, the al- 
cove, the Ouse, and its banks, everything that I have de- 
scribed. I anticipate the pleasure of those days not very far 
distant, and feel a part of it this moment. My dear, I will 
not let you come till the end of May or the beginning of June, 
because before that time my green-house will not be ready to 
receive us, and it is the only pleasant room belonging to us. 
When the plants go out, we go in. I line it with nets, and 
spread the floor with mats ; and there you shall sit, with a 
bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge of honeysuckles, 
roses, and jasmine; and I will make you a bouquet of myrtle 
«very day. W^e now talk of nobody but you — what we will 
do with you when we get you, where you shall walk, where 
you shall sleep, in short everything that bears the remotest 
relation to your Avell-being at Olney occupies all onr talking 
time, which is all that I do not spend at Troy. Mrs. Unwin 
has already secured for you an apartment, or rather two, just 
such as we could wish. The house in which you will find 
them is within thirty yards of our own, and opposite to it. 
The whole affair is thus commodiously adjusted ; and now 
I have nothing to do but to wish for June ; and June, my 
cousin, was never so wished for since June was made. I 
shall have a thousand things to hear, and a thousand to say, 
and they will all rush into my mind together, till it will be 
so crowded with things impatient to be said, that for some 
time I shall say nothing. But no matter — sooner or later 
they will all come out. After so long a separation, a separa- 
tion, which of late seemed so likely to last for life, we shall 
meet each other as alive from the dead ; and, for my own part, 
I can truly say, that I have not a friend in the other world 
whose resurrection would give me greater pleasure." 

" If you will not quote Solomon, my dearest cousin, I will. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 119 

He says, and as beautifully as truly, ' Hope deferred maketh 
the heart sick, but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life !' 
I feel how imich reason he had on his side when he made this 
observation, and am myself really sick of your delay. Well, 
the middle of June will not always be a thousand years off; 
and when it comes, I shall hear you, and see j'ou too, and 
shall not care a sing-le farthing if you do not touch a pen for 
a month. From this very morning, 15th May, 1786, I begin 
tp date the last month of oirr long separation ; and confident- 
ly, and most comfortably hope, that before the fifteenth of 
June shall present itself, we shall have seen each other. Is 
it not so 1 and will it not be one of the most extraordinary 
eras of my extraordinary life 1 A year ago we neither cor- 
responded, nor expected to meet in this world. But this world 
is a scene of marvellous events, many of them more marvel- 
lous than fiction itself would dare to hazard ; (blessed be 
God !) they are not all of the distressing kind. Now and 
then, in the course of an existence, whose hue is for the most 
part sable, a day turns up that makes amends for many sighs, 
and many subjects of complaint. Such a day shall I account 
the day of your arrival at Olney. Wherefore is it (canst 
thou tell me) that, together with all these delightful sensa- 
tions, to which the sight of a long absent dear friend gives 
birth, there is a mixture of something painful, flutterings and 
tumults, and I know not what accompaniments of our plea- 
sure, that are in fact perfectly foreign from the occasion? 
Such I feel when I think of our meeting, and such, I sup- 
pose, feel you; and the nearer the crisis approaches, the more 
I am sensible of them. I know beforehand that they will 
increase with every turn of the wheels that shall convey you 
to Olney ; and when we actually meet, the pleasure, and this 
unaccountable pain together, will be as much as I shall be 
able to support. I am utterly at a loss for the cause, and can 
only resolve it into that "appointment, by which it has been 
foreordained that all human delights shall be qualified and 
mingled with their contraries. But a fig for them all ! Let 
us resolve to combat with, and to conquer them. They are 
dreams; they are illusions of the judgment. Some enemy 
that hates the happiness of human kind, and is ever indus- 
trious to dash, if he cannot destroy it, works them in us, and 
they being- so perfectly unreasonable as they are, is a proof 
of it. Nothing that is such can be the work of a good agent. 
This I know too by experience, that, like all other illusions, 
they exist only by force of imagination, are indebted for their 
prevalence to the absence of their object, and in a few mo- 



120 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

ments after their appearance cease. So then this is a settled 
point, and the case stands thus. You will tremble as you] 
draw near to Olney, and so shall I ; but we will both recol- j 
lect that there is no reason why we should, and this recollec- 
tion will, at least, have some little effect in our favour. We| 
will likewise both take the comfort of what we know to be] 
true, that the tumult will soon cease, and the pleasure lone 
survive the pain, even as long, I trust, as we ourselves shal^ 
survive it. Assure yourself, my dear cousin, that both for 
your sake, since you make a point of it, and for my own, I 
will be as philosophically careful as possible, that these fine 
nerves of mine shall not be beyond measure agitated when 
you arrive. In truth, there is a much greater probability that 
they will be benefited, and greatly too. Joy of heart, from 
whatever occasion it may arise, is the best of all nervous me- 
dicines ; and I should not wonder, if such a turn given to my 
spirits should have even a lasting effect, of the most advan- 
tageous kind, iipon them. You must not imagine neither, 
that I am, on the whole, in any great degree, subject to ner- 
vous affections ; occasionally I am, and have been these many 
years, much liable to dejection ; but, at intervals, and some- 
times for an interval of weeks, no creature would suspect it. 
For I have not, that which commonly is a symptom of such 
a case belonging to me : I mean occasional extraordinary ele- 
vation. When I am in the best health, my tide of animal 
spj-ightliness flows Avith great equality, so that I am never, 
at any time, exalted in proportion as I am sometimes de- 
pressed. My depression has a cause, and if that cause were 
to cease, I should be as cheerful thenceforth, and perhaps for 
ever, as any man need be." 

" Your visit is delayed too long, to mj impatience, at least 
it seems so, who find the spring, backward as it is, too for- 
ward, because many of its beauties will have faded before 
you will have an opportunity to see them. We took our cus- 
tomary walk yesterday, and saw, with regret, the laburnums, 
syringas, and guelder roses, some of them blown, and others 
just upon the point of blowing, and could not help observing, 
that all these will be gone before Lady Hesketh comes. Still, 
however, there will be roses, and jasmine, and hone)'-suckle, 
and shady walks, and cool alcovesf-and you will partake them 
with us. But I want you to have a share of everything that 
is delightful here, and cannot bear that the advance of the 
season should steal away a single pleasure before you come 
to enjoy it. I will venture to say, that even you were never 
so much expected in your life." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 121 

♦* I regret that I have made your heart ache so often, my 
dear cousin, with talking about my fits of dejection. Some- 
thing has happened that has led me to the subject, or I would 
have mentioned them more sparingly. Do not suppose that 
I treat you with reserve; there is nothing in which I am con- 
cerned that you shall not be made acquainted with. But the 
tale is too long for a letter : I will only add, for your present 
satisfaction, that the cause is not exterior, that it is not with- 
in the reach of human aid, and that yet I have a hope my- 
self, and Mrs. Unwin a strong persuasion of its removal. I 
am indeed even now, and have been for a considerable time, 
sensible of a change for the better, and expect, with good 
reason, a comfortable lift from you. Guess then, my beloved 
cousin, with what wishes I look forward to the time of your 
arrival, from whose coming I promise myself not only plea- 
sure, but peace of mind, at least an additional share of it. At 
present it is an uncertain and transient guest with me ; but 
the joy with which I shall see, and converse with you, at 01- 
ney, may, perhaps, make it an abiding one." 

It is seldom that pleasure, anticipated with such warmth 
of feeling, fully answers our expectations. Human enjoy- 
ments almost invariably seem much more valuable in pros- 
pect than in possession. Cowper's interview with his cousin, 
however, was altogether an exception, and proved a source 
of more real delight to both parties than either of them had 
expected. As might naturally be supposed, after a separation 
of three-and-twenty years, they both experienced the full 
force of those emotions, which Cowper had so well described 
in his letters, and their first meeting was, indeed, painfully 
pleasing; every sensation, however, that was in any degree 
painful, soon subsided, and gave place to such only as were 
pure and delightful. Mrs. Unwin was pleased with the sweet- 
ness of temper, agreeable manners, and cheerful conversation 
of Lady Hesketh, and her ladyship was no less delighted 
with the mild, amiable, and affectionate conduct of her new 
companion; while Cowper's heart was gladdened to have the 
advantage of daily intercourse with another highly cultivated 
mind." 

The happy effect this change had upon Cowper's spirits 
will be seen by the following extracts from his correspond- 
ence : — " My dear cousin's arrival, as it could not fail to do, 
has made us happier than we ever were at Olney. Her 
great kindness, in giving us her company, is a cordial that 
I shall feel the effect of, not only while she is here, but 
wl;iile I live. She has been with us a fortnight. She pleases 
11 



122 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

everybody, and is, in her turn, pleased with everything she 
finds here ; is always cheerful and good tempered ; and i 
knows no pleasure equal to that of communicating pleasure! 
to us, and to all around her. This disposition in her is the 
more comfortable, because it is not the humour of the day, a] 
sudden flash of benevolence and goodness, occasioned mere- 
ly by a change of scene, but it is her natural turn, and hasJ 
governed all her conduct ever since I knew her first, Wej 
are consequently happy in her society, and shall be happier! 
still to have you partake with us in our joy. I am fond of 
the sound of bells, but was never more pleased with those of 
Oiney than when they rang her into her new habitation. 
She is, as she ever was, my pride and my joy ; and I am de- 
lighted with everything that means to do her honour. Her 
first appearance was too much for me ; my spirits, instead of 
being gently raised, broke down with me, under the pressure 
of too much joy, and left me flat, or rather melancholy, 
throughout the day, to a degree that was mortifying to my- 
self, and alarming to her. But I have made amends for this 
torture since ; and, in point of cheerfulness, have far exceed- 
ed her expectations, for she knew that sable had been my 
suit for many years. By her help we get change of air and 
of scene, though still resident at Olney ; and by her means, 
have intercourse with some families in this country, with 
whom, but for her, we could never have been acquainted. 
Her presence here would at any time, even in her happiest 
days, have been a comfort to me ; but in the present day I 
am doubly sensible of its value. She leaves nothing unsaid, 
nothing undone, that shethiyks vi^ill be conducive to our well- 
being ; and so far as she is concerned, I have nothing to wish, 
but that I could believe her sent hither in mercy to myself; 
then I should be thankful." 

Lady Hesketh had not long been at Olney before she be- 
came dissatisfied with the poet's residence. She thought it 
a situation altogether unsuitable for a person subject to de- 
pression. Cowper himself had often entertained the same 
opinion respecting it ; and both he and Mrs. Unwin had fre- 
quently wished for a change, and had, indeed, been looking 
out for a house more agreeable to their taste. At that time 
a very commodious cottage, pleasantly situated in the village 
of Weston Underwood, a mile and a half distant from Olney, 
belonging to Sir John Throckmorton, was unoccupied. It 
occurred to Cowper, that this would be a very agreeable | 
summer residence for his cousin ; and on his mentioning it to 
her, she immediately engaged it, not for herself only, but for 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 123 

the future residence of the poet and his amiable companion, 
with whom she had now made up her mind to become a fre- 
quent, if not a constant associate. The following extracts 
will best describe Cowper's feelings on this occasion: — " I 
shall now communicate news that will give you pleasure. 
When you first contemplated the front of our abode, you were 
shocked. In your eyes it had the appearance of a prison, 
and you sighed at the thought that your mother lived in it. 
Your view of it was not only just, but prophetic. It had not 
only the aspect of a place built for the purposes of incarcera- 
tion, but has actually served that purpose, through a long, 
long period, that we have been the prisoners ; but a gaol de- 
livery is at hand. The bolts and bars are to be loosed, and 
we shall escape. A verj' different mansion, both in point of 
appearance and accommodation, expects us ; and the expense 
of living in it will not be much greater than we are subjected 
to in this. It is situated at Weston, one of the prettiest vil- 
lages in England, and belongs to Mr. Throckmorton, after- 
wards Sir John Throckmorton. We all three dine with him 
to-day by invitation, and shall survey it in the afternoon, 
point out the necessary repairs and finally adjust the treaty. 
I have my cousin's promise that she will never let another 
year pass without a visit to us, and the house is large enough 
to take us, and our suite, and her also, with as many of her's as 
she shall choose to bring. The change will, I hope, prove 
advantageous, both to your mother and to me, in all respects. 
Here we have no neighbourhood ; there we shall have much 
agreeable neighbours in the Throckmortons. Here we have 
a bad air in the winter, impregnated with the fishy-smelling 
fumes of the marsh miasma ; there we shall breathe in an at- 
mosphere untainted. Here we are confined from September 
to March, and sometimes longer ; there we shall be upon the 
very verge of pleasure grounds, upon which we can always 
ramble, and shall not wade through almost impassable dirt 
to get at them. Both your mother's constitution and mine 
have suffered materially by such close and long confinement ; 
and it is high time, unless we intend to retreat into the grave, 
that we should seek out a more wholesome residerrce. So 
far is well ; the rest is left to Heaven." 

To his friend Mr. Newton, he thus writes : — " You have 
heard of our intended removal. The house that is to receive 
us is in a state of preparation, and when finished, will be 
both smarter and more commodious than our present abode. 
But the circumstance that recommends it chiefly is its situa- 
tion. Long confinement in the winter, and indeed, for the 



124 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

most part in the autumn too, has hurt us both. A gravel 
/walk, thirty yards long, affords but indifferent scope to the 
locomotive faculty; yet it is all that we have had to move 
in for eight months in the year, during thirteen years that I 
have been a prisoner. Had I been confined in the Tower, 
the battlements of it would have furnished me with a larger 
space. You say well, that there was a time when I was 
happy at Olney ; and I am now as happy at Olney, as I ex- 
pect to be anywhere, without the presence of God. Change 
of situation is with me no otherwise an object, than as both 
Mrs. Unwin's health and my own happen to be concerned in 
it. We are both I believe partly indebted for our respective; 
maladies, to an atmosphere encumbered with raw vapours,' 
issuing from flooded meadows, and we have perhaps fared 
the worse for sitting so often, and sometimes for several suc- 
cessive months, over a cellar, filled with water. These ills 
we shall escape in the uplands ; and as we may reasonably 
hope, of course, their consequences. But as for happiness, 
he that once had communion with his Maker, must be more 
frantic than ever I was yet, if he can dream of finding it at a 
distance from him. I no more expect happiness at Weston 
than here, or than I should expect it in company with felons 
and outlaws in the hold of a ballast-lighter. Animal spirits, 
however, have their value, and are especially desirable to him 
who is condemned to carry a burden which at any rate will 
tire him, but which without their aid, cannot fail to crush 
him." 

! On the 15th November, 1786, Cowper entered upon his 
new abode. The following extracts from his letters describe 
his sensations on the occasion : — "There are some things that 
do not exactly shorten the life of man, yet seem to do so, and 
frequent removals from place to place are of that number. 
For my own part, at least, I am apt to think, if I had been 
more stationary, I should seem to myself to have lived 
longer. My many changes of habitation have divided my 
time into many short periods ; and when I look back upon 
them they appear only as the stages of a day's journey, the 
first of which is at no great distance from the last. I lived 
longer at Olney than anywhere. There indeed I lived till 
mouldering walls and a tottering house warned me to depart. 
I have accordingly taken the hint, and two days since arriv- 
ed, or rather took up my abode, at Weston. You perhaps 
have never made the experiment, but I can assure you that the 
confusion that attends a transmigration of this kind is infinite, 
and has a terrible effect in deranging the intellect. When 



L 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 125 

God speaks to a chaos, it becomes a scene of order and harw 
mony in a moment ; but when his creatures have thrown onej 
house into confusion by leaving it, and another by tumbling 
themselves and their goods into it, not less than many days' 
labour and contrivance are necessary to give them their pro- 
per places. And it belongs to furniture of all kinds, how- 
ever convenient it may be in its place, to be a nuisance out 
of it. We find ourselves here in a comfortable house. Such 
it is in itself; and my cousin, who has spared no expense in 
dressing it up for us, has made it a genteel one. Such, at 
least, it will be, when its contents are a little harmonized. 
She left us on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, Mrs. Unwin 
and I took possession of our new abode. I could not help 
.giving a last look to my old prison, and its precincts ; and 
though I cannot easily account for it, having been miserable 
there so many years, felt something like a heart-ache, when 
I took my leave of a scene, that certainly in itself had nothing 
to engage affection. But I recollected that I had once been 
happy there, and could not, without tears in my eyes, 
bid adieu to a place in which God had so often found me. 
The human mind is a great mystery ; mine, at least, appears 
to be such upon this occasion. I found that I not only had a 
tenderness for that ruinous abode, because it had once known 
me happy^ in the presence of God, but that even the distress 
I had there suffered, for so long a time, on account of his ab- 
sence, had endeared it to me as much. I was weary of every 
object, had long wished for a change, yet could not take 
leave without a pang at parting. What consequences are to 
attend our removal, God only knows. I know well that it is 
not in the powder of situation to effect a cure of melancholy 
like mine. The change, however, has been entirely a provi- 
dential one ; for much as I wished it, I never uttered that 
wish, except to Mrs. Unwin. When I learned that the house 
was to be let, and had seen it, I had a strong desire that Lady 
Hesketh should take it for herself, if she should happen to like 
the country. That desire, indeed, is not exactly fulfilled, 
and yet, upon the "vvhole, is exceeded. We are the tenants ; 
but she assures us that we shall often have her for a guest, 
and here is room enough for us all. You, I hope, my dear 
friend, and Mrs. Newton, will want no assurances to con- 
vince you that you will always be received here with the sin- 
c«rest welcome, more welcome than you have been you can- 
not be. but better accommodated you may and will be." 
11* 



( 126 ) 



CHAPTER XI. 



Extracts from his correspondence — Description of the deep seri- 
ousness that generally pervaded his mind — His remarks to 
j'usfifi/ his removal from Olney- — Vindicates himself and Mrs. 
Unwin from unjust aspersions — Reasons for undertaking the 
translation of Homer — His opinion of Pope's — Unremitting 
attention to his own — Immense pains he bestowed upon it — 
His readiness to avail himself of the assistance of others — 
Vexation he experienced from a multiplicity of critics — Just 
remarks upon criticism — Determination to persevere in his 
work—rJustifies himself for undertaking it — Pleasure he took 
in relieting the poor — Renewal of his correspondence luith 
Gerttrul Cowper and the Rev. Dr. Bagot — Consolatory letter 
to'the latter. 

The extracts we have already made from Cowper's cor- 
respondence prove, unquestionably, that the leading bias of 
his mind vv^as towards the all-important concerns of religion. 
As an exhibition, however, of the state of his mind in this 
respect, at least, up to the close of 1786, the period of his 
removal to Weston, we think the following extracts cannot 
fail to be interesting. To Mr. Newton he writes as follows: 
— " Those who enjoy the means of grace, and know how to 
use them well, will thrive anywhere ; others nowhere. 
More than a few, who were formerly ornaments of this 
garden. Avhich you once watered, here flourished, and have 
seemed to wither, and become, as the apostle James strongly 
expresses it — twice dead — plucked up by the roots ; others 
transplanted into a soil, apparently less favourable to their 
growth, either find the exchange an advantage, or at least, 
are not injured by it. Of myself, who had once both leaves 
and fruit, but who have now neither, I say nothing, or only 
this — that when I am overwhelmed with despair, I repine at 
my barrenness, and think it hard to be thus blighted ; but 
when a glimpse of hope breaks in upon me, I am then con- 
tented to be the sapless thing I am, knowing that he who 
has commanded me to wither, can command me to flourish 
again when he pleases. My experiences, however, of this 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 127 

latter kind, are rare and transient. The light that reaches 
me cannot be compared either to that of the sun, or of the 
moon ; it is a flash in a dark night, during which the heavens 
seem opened only to shut again. I should be happy (and 
when I say this, I mean to be understood in the fullest and 
most emphatical sense of the word) if my frame of mind 
were such as to permit me to study the important truths of 
religion. But Adam's approach to the tree of life, after he 
had sinned, was not more effectually prohibited by the flam- 
ing sword that turned every way, than mine to its great 
Antitype has been now almost these thirteen years, a short 
interval of three or four days, which passed about this time 
twelvemonth, alone excepted. For what reason I am thus 
long excluded, if I am ever again to be admitted, is known 
to God only. I can say but this, that if he is still my father, 
his paternal severity has, toward me, been such as to give 
me reason to account it unexampled. For though others 
have suffered desertion, yet few, I believe, for so long a time, 
and perhaps none a desertion accompanied with such expe- 
rience. But they have this belonging to them : that as they 
are not fit for recital, being made up merely of infernal in- 
gredients, so neitlier are they susceptible of it, for I know no 
language in which they could be expressed. They are as 
truly things which it is not possible for man to utter, as those 
were which Paul heard and saw in the third heaven. If the 
ladder of Christian experience reaches, as I suppose it does, 
to the very presence of God, it has nevertheless its foot in 
the abyss. And if Paul stood, as no doubt he did, on the 
topmost stave of it, I have been standing, and still stand, on 
the lowest, in this thirteenth year that has passed since I de- 
scended. In such a situation of mind, encompassed by the 
midnight of absolute despair, and a thousand times filled 
with unspeakable horror, I first commenced an author. Dis- 
tress drove me to it ; and the impossibility of existing with- 
out some employment, still recommends it. I am not, in- 
deed, so perfectly hopeless as I was, but I am equally in 
need of an occupation, being often as much, and sometimes 
even more, worried than ever. I cannot amuse myself as I 
once could with carpenters', or with gardeners' tools, or with 
squirrels and guinea-pigs. At that time I was a child ; but 
since it has pleased God, whatever else he withholds from 
me, to restore to me a man's mind, I have put away childish 
things. Thus far, therefore, it is plain that I have not chosen, 
or prescribed to myself, my own way, but have been provi- 
dentially led to it ; perhaps I might say, with equal propriety, 



128 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

compelled and scourged into it: for certainly could I have 
made my choice, or were I permitted to make it even now, 
those hours which I spend in poetry I would spend with God. 
But it is evidently his will that I should spend them as I do, 
because every other way of employing them he himself con- 
tinues to make impossible. The dealings of God with me 
are to myself utterly unintelligible. I have never met, either 
in books, or in conversation, wdth an experience at all simi- 
lar to my own. More than twelve months have now passed 
since I began to hope, that having walked the whole breadth 
of the bottom of this Red Sea, I was beginning to climb the 
opposite shore, and I prepared to sing the song of Moses. 
But I have been disappointed ; those hopes have been blast- 
ed ; those comforts have been wrested from me. I could not 
be so duped even by the arch-enemy himself as to be made 
to question the divine nature of them, but I have been made 
to believe (which you will say is being duped still more) 
that God gave them to me in derision, and took them away 
in vengeance. Such, however, is, and has been my persua- 
sion many a long day ; and when I shall think on this subject 
more comfortably, or as you will be inclined to tell me, more 
rationally and scripturally, I know not. In the meantime I 
embrace, with alacrit)', every alleviation of my case, and 
with the more alacrit)"^, because, whatever proves a relief of 
my distress is a cordial to Mrs. Unwin, whose sympathy 
with me, through the wiiole of it, has been such, that despair 
excepted, her burthen has been as heavy as mine." 

Some of his friends, and Mr. Newton among the rest, on 
being apprized of his intended removal from Olney, express- 
ed apprehensions that it would introduce him to company, 
uncongenial to his taste, if not detrimental to his piety. Ad- 
verting to these objections, he thus writes to his esteemed 
correspondent : " If in the course of such an occupation as I 
have been driven to by despair, or by the inevitable conse- 
quence of it, either my former connections are revived, or 
new ones occur, these things are as much a part of the dis- 
pensation of Providence as the leading points themselves. If 
his purposes in thus directing me are gracious, he will take 
care to prove them such in the issue ; and, in the meantime, 
will preserve me (for he is able to do that, in one condition 
of life as well as in another) from all mistakes that might 
prove pernicious to myself, or give reasonable offence to 
others. I can say it, as truly as it was ever spoken, Here I 
am ; let him do with me as seemeth to him good. At pre- 
sent, however, I have no connections, at which either you, I 



^ 

1 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 129 

trust, or any who love me, and wish me well, have occasion 
to conceive alarm. Much kindness indeed I have experi- 
enced at the hands of several, some of them near relations, 
others not related to me at all, but I do not know that there 
is among- them a single person from whom I am likely to 
catch contamination. I can say of them all, with more truth 
than Jacob uttered, when he called kid venison, ' The Lord 
thy God brought them unto me.' I could show you among 
them two men, whose lives, though they have but little of 
what we call evangelical light, are ornaments to a Christian 
country, men who fear God more than some who profess to 
love him. But I will not particularize further on such a 
subject. Be they what they may, our situations are so dis- 
tant, and we are likely to meet so seldom, that were they, as 
they are not, persons even of exceptionable manners, their 
manners would have little to do with me. We correspond, 
at present, only on the subject of what passed at Troy three 
thousand years ago ; and they are matters that, if they can do 
no good, will at least hurt nobody." 

" Your letter to Mrs. Unwin concerning our conduct, and 
the offence taken at it in our neighbourhood, gave us both a 
great deal of concern, and she is still deeply affected by it. 
Of this you may asS'Ure yourself, that if our friends in London 
have been grieved, it is because they have been misinformed, 
which is the more probable, because the bearers of intelli- 
gence hence to London are not always very scrupulous con- 
cerning the truth of their reports ; and that if any of our seri- 
ous neighbours have been astonished, they have been so 
without the slightest occasion. Poor people are never well 
employed even when they judge one another ; but when they 
underj^ake to scan the motives, and estimate the behaviour of 
those whom Providence has raised a little above them, they 
are utterly out of their province and their depth. They often 
see us get into Lady Hesketh's carriage, and rather unchari- 
tably suppose that it always carries us into a scene of dissi- 
pation, which, in fact, it never does. We visit, indeed, at 
Mr. Throckmorton's, and at Gayhurst, rarely, however, at 
the latter, on account of the greater distance ; frequently, 
though not very frequently, at Weston, both because it is 
nearer, and because our business in the house, that is making 
ready for our reception, often calls us that way. What good 
we can get or can do in these visits, is another question, 
which they, I am sure, are not qualified to solve. Of this we 
are both sure, that under the guidance of Providence we have 
formed these connections, that we should have hurt the 



130 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Christian cause rather than have served it, by a prudish ab- 
stinence from them ; and that St. Paul himself, conducted to 
them as we have been, vt^ould have found it expedient to have 
done as we have done. It is always impossible to conjecture 
to much purpose, from the beginnings of a providential event, 
how it will terminate. If we have neither received nor com- 
municated any spiritual good at present, while conversant 
with our new acquaintance, at least no harm has befallen on 
either side ; and it were too hazardous an assertion, even for 
our censorious neighbours to make, that the cause of the gos- 
pel can never be served in any of our future interviews with 
them, because it does not appear to have been served at pre- 
sent. In the mean time, I speak a strict truth as in the sight 
of God, when I say that we are neither of us at all more ad- 
dicted to gadding than heretofore. We both naturally love 
seclusion from company, and never go into it without putting 
a force upon our own dispositions ; at the same time I will 
confess, and you will easily conceive, that the melancholy 
incident to such close confinement as we have so long endur- 
ed, finds itself a little relieved by such amusements as a 
society so innocent affords. You may look round the Chris- 
tian world, and find few, I believe, of our station, who have 
so little intercourse as we with the world, that is not Chris- 
tian. We place all the uneasiness that you have felt for us 
on the subject, to the account of that cordial friendship of 
which you have long given us a proof. But you may be as- 
sured, that notwithstanding all the rumours to the contrary, 
we are exactly what we were when you saw us last : — I, 
miserable on account of God's departure from me, which I 
believe to be final ; and she seeking his return to me in the 
path of duty, and by continual prayer." 

After the publication of Cowper's second volume of poems, 
and indeed, for some considerable time before its actual ap- 
pearance, he was diligently engaged in producing a new 
translation of Homer's unrivalled poems. His reasons for 
undertaking a work of so great magnitude, and that required 
such immense labour : and the spirited manner with which 
he brought it to a close, shall be related as nearly as possible 
in his own words. Writing to Mr. Newton, he thus describes 
the commencement of this great undertaking : " I am employ- 
ed in writing a narrative, but not so useful as that you have 
just published. Employment, however, with the pen, is 
through habit become essential to my well-being; and to pro- 
duce always original poems, especially of considerable length, 
is not so easy. For some weeks after I had finished the Task, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 131 

and sent away the last sheet corrected, I was through neces- 
sity idle, and suffered not a little in my spirits for being so. 
One day, being in such distress of mind as was hardly sug- 
portable, I took up the Iliad ; and merely to direct attention, 
and with no more preconception of what I was then entering 
upon, than I have at this moment of what I shall be doing 
this daj'^ twenty years hence, translated the first twelve lines 
of it. The same necessity pressed me again, I had recourse 
to the same expedient, and translated more. Every day bring- 
ing its occasion for employment with it, every day conse- 
quently added something to the work; till at last I began to 
reflect thus : — The Iliad and the Odyssey together consists 
of about forty thousand verses. To translate these forty thou- 
sand verses will furnish me with occupation for a considera- 
ble time. I have already made some progress, and find it a 
most agreeable amusement. Homer, in point of purity, is a 
most blameless writer, and though he was not an enlightened 
man, has interspersed many great and valuable truths through- 
out both his poems. In short, he is in all respects a most 
venerable old gentleman, by an acquaintance with whom 
no man can disgrace himself; the literati are all agreed to a 
man, that although Pope has given us two pretty poems, 
under Homer's title, there is not to be found in them the least 
portion of Homer's spirit, nor the least resemblance of hia 
manner. I will try, therefore, whether I cannot copy him 
more happily myself. I have at least the advantage of Pope's 
faults and failings, which like so many beacons upon a dan- 
gerous coast, will serve me to steer by, and will make my 
chance for success more probable. These, and many other 
considerations, but especially a mind that abhorred a vacuum 
as its chief bane, impelled me so effectually to the work, that 
ere long, I mean to publish proposals for a subscription of it, 
having advanced so far as to be warranted in doing so." 

In another letter to the same correspondent, the following 
just and critical remarks on Pope's translation occur : " Your 
sentiments of Pope's Homer agree perfectly with those of 
every competent judge with whom I have at any time con- 
versed about it. I never saw a copy so unlike the original. 
There is not, I believe, in all the world to be found, an unin- 
spired poem so simple as are both of those of Homer ; nor 
in all the world a poem more bedizened with ornaments than 
Pope's translation of them. Accordingly, the sublime of 
Homer in the hands of Pope, becomes bloated and tumid, and 
his description tawdry. Neither had Pope the faintest con- 
ception of those exquisite discriminations of character for 



132 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

which Homer is so remarkable. All his persons, and equal 
ly upon all occasions, speak in an inflated and strutting phra 
seology, as Pope has managed them ; although in the origi-l 
nal, the dignity of their utterance, even when they are most, 
majestic, consists principally in the simplicity of their senti. 
ments, and of their language. Another censure I must pass 
upon our Anglo-Grecian, out of many that obtrude themselve 
upon me, but for which I have now neither time nor room 
spare, which is, that with all his great abilities, he was d 
fective in his feelings to a degree, that some passages in hi 
own poems make it difficult to account for. No writer mo 
pathetic than Homer, because none more natural ; and b 
cause none less natural than Pope, in his version of Home 
therefore, than he, none less pathetic. One of the great faul 
of Pope's translation is, that it is licentious. To publis' 
therefore, a translation that should be at all chargeable with' 
the same fault, would be useless. Whatever will be said of 
mine, when it does appear, it shall never be said that it is not 
faithful. I thank you heartily both for your wishes and 
prayers, that should a disappointment occur, I ma)'' not be too 
much hurt by it. Strange as it may seem to say it, and un- 
willing as I should be to say it to any person less candid than 
yourself, I will nevertheless say that I have not entered upon 
this work, unconnected as it must needs appear with the cause 
of God, without the direction of his providence, nor have I 
been altogether unassisted by him in the performance of it. 
Time will show to what it ultimately tends. I am inclined 
to think that it has a tendency, to which I myself am at pre- 
sent a perfect stranger. Be that as it may, he knows my 
frame, and will consider that I am dust, and dust too that has 
been so trampled under foot, and beaten, that a storm less 
violent than an unsuccessful issue of such a business might 
occasion, would be sufficient to blow me quite away. As I 
know not to what end this my present occupation may finally 
lead, so neither did I know when I wrote it, or at all suspect, 
one valuable end, at least, that was to be answered by the 
Task. It has pleased God to prosper it ; and being composed 
in blank verse, it is likely to prove as seasonable an introduc- 
tion to a blank verse Homer, by the same hand, as any thatil 
could have been devised ; yet when I wrote the last line of 
the Task, I as little suspected that I should ever engage in a 
version of the old Asiatic tale, as you do now." v 

Having undertaken a work that required so much labour, ■ 
he bestowed upon it the utmost pains, and allowed nothing to ^ 
divert his attention from it. In his correspondence the fol- 



I 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 133 

lowing remarks occur. "The little time that I can devote to 
any other purpose than that of poetry, is, as ji-ou may sup- 
pose, stolen. Homer is urgent; much is done, and much still 
remains undone, and no school-boy is more attentive to the 
performance of his daily t^isk than I am. — In truth, my time 
is very much occupied ; and the more so, because I not only 
have a long and laborious work in hand, — for such it would 
prove at any rate, — but because I make it a point to bestow 
my utmost attention to it, and to give it all the finishing that 
the most scrupulous accuracy can command. As soon as 
breakfast is over I retire to my nutshell of a summer-house, 
which is my verse manufactory, and here I abide seldom less 
than three hours, and not often more. In the afternoon I re- 
turn to it again; and all the daylight that follows, except 
what is sometimes devoted to a walk, is given to Homer. It 
is well for me, that a course which is now become necessary, 
is so much my choice. Assure yourself, therefore, that when 
at any time it happens that I am in arrears in my corresijond- 
ence with j'ou, neither neglect nor idleness is the cause. I 
have a daily occupation of forty lines to translate, a task 
which I never excuse myself from, when it is possible to 
perform it. Equally sedulous I am in the matter of transcrib- 
ing, so that between both, my mornings and evenings are, for 
the most part, completely engaged. Add to this, that though 
my spirits are seldom so bad but I can write verse, they are 
often at so low an ebb as to make the production of a letter 
impossible. I am now in the twentieth book of Homer, and 
shall assuredly proceed, because the farther I go the more I 
find myself justified in the undertaking ; and in due time, if 
I live, shall assuredly publish. In the whole I shall have 
composed about forty thousand verses, about which forty 
thousand verses, I shall have taken great pains, on no 
occasion suffering a slovenly line to escape me. I" leavQ 
you to guess, therefore, whether, such a labour once achiev- 
ed, I shall not determine to turn it to some account, and 
to gain myself profit by it if I can ; if not, at least, some cre- 
dit for my reward. Till I had made such a progress in 
my present undertaking as to put it out of all doubt, that, if 
I lived, I should proceed in, and finish it, I kept the matter 
to myself. It would have done me little honour to have told 
ray friends, that I had an arduous enterprise in hand, if after- 
wards I must have told them that I had dropped it. Know- 
ing it to have been universally the opinion of the literati, 
ever since they have allowed themselves to consider the mat- 
ter coolly, that a translation, properly so called, of Homer, 
12 



134 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

is, notwithstanding what Pope has done, a desideratum in the 
English language; it struck me that an attempt to supply 
the deficiency would be an honourable one, and having made 
myself, in former years, somewhat critically, master of the 
original, I was by this double consideration, induced to make 
the attempt myself. — I am noAV translating into blank verse 
the last book of the Iliad, and mean to publish by subscrip- 
tion. I wish that all English readers had an unsophisticated 
and unadulterated taste, and could relish real simplicity. But, 
I am well aware, that in this respect, I am under a disadvan- 
tage, and that many, especially many ladies, missing many 
pretty terms of expression that they have admired in Pope, 
will account ray translation, in those particulars, defective. 
But, I comfort myself with the thought that in reality it is 
no defect; on the contrary, that the want of all such embel- 
lishments as do not belong to the original, will be one of its 
principal merits, with persons really capable of relishing 
Homer. He is the best poet that ever lived for many reasons, 
but for none more than that majestic plainness that distin- 
guishes him from all others. As an accomplished person 
moves gracefully without thinking of it, in like manner, the 
dignity of Homer seems to have cost him no labour. It was 
natural to him to say great things, and to say them well, and 
little ornaments were beneath his notice." 

The following extract will shov/ that no person ever ap- 
peared before the public in a work of any literary importance, 
and more correct views of its legitimate claims under such 
circumstances. " I thank you for your friendly hints and 
precautions, and shall not fail to give them the guidance of 
my pen. I respect the public, and I respect myself, and had 
rather want bread than expose myself wantonly to the con- 
demnation of either. I hate the affectation so frequently 
found in authors, of negligence and slovenliness, and in the 
present case am sensible how necessary it is to shun them, 
when I undertake the vast and invidious labour of doing bet- 
ter than Pope has done before me. I thank you for all that 
you have said and done in my cause, and beforehand for all 
that yovi shall say and do hereafter. I am sure that there 
will be no deficiency on your part. On my ov^n part I assure 
you that no pains shall be wanted to make the work as com- 
plete as possible. I am now in a scene of perfect tranquilli- 
ty and the profoundest silence, kicking up the dust of heroic 
narrative and besieging Troy again. I told you that I had al- 
most finished the translation of the Iliad, and I verily tliought 
so. But I was never more mistaken. By the time when I 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 135 

had reached the end of the poem, the first book of my ver- 
sion was a twelvemonth old. When I came to consider it, 
after having laid it by so long, it did not satisfy me ; I set 
myself to mend it, and did so. But still it appeared to me 
improvable, and that nothing would so effectually secure that 
point as to give the whole book a new translation. With the ex- 
ception of a very few lines, I have so done, and was never in 
my life so convinced of the soundness of Horace's advice to 
publish nothing in haste ; so much advantage have I derived 
from doing that twice which I thought I had accomplished 
notably at once. He, indeed, recommends nine years impri- 
sonment of your verses before you send them abroad ; but 
the ninth part of that time, is, I believe, as much as there is 
need of to open a man's eyes upon his own defects, and to 
secure him from the danger of premature self-approbation. 
Neither ought it to be forgotten, that nine years make so wide 
an interval between the cup and the lip, that a thousand things 
may fall out between. New engagements may occur, Vv'hich 
may make the finishing of that which a poet has begun im- 
possible. In nine years he may rise into a situation, or he 
may sink into one, utterly incompatible with his purpose. 
His constitution may break in nine years, and sickness may 
disqualify him for improving what he enterprized in the days 
of his health. — His inclination may change, and he may find 
some other employment more agreeable ; or another poet may 
enter upon the same work, and get the start of him. There- 
fore, my friend Horace, though I acknowledge your principle 
to be good, I must confess the practice you would ground it 
upon is carried to an extreme. The rigour that I exercised 
upon the first book, I intend to exercise upon all that follow, 
and have now actually advanced into the middle of the se- 
venth, nowhere admitting more than one line in fifty of the 
first translation. You must not imagine that I had been care- 
less and hasty in the first instance. In truth, I had not; but, 
in rendering so excellent a poet as Homer into our lan- 
guage, there are so many points to be attended to, both in 
respect of language and numbers, that a first attempt must be 
fortunate indeed if it does not call aloud for a second. You 
saw the specimen, and you saw (I am sure) one great fault 
in it ; I mean the harshness of some of the elisions. I do 
not altogether take the blame of these to myself, for into 
some of them I have been absolutely driven and hunted by 
a series of reiterated objections, made by a critical friend, 
whose scruples and delicacies teazed me almost out of all 
patience." 



136 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

With a view to make his translation as perfect as possiblPf 
Cowper, before he committed it to the press, availed himself 
of the assistance of several eminent critics, from some of 
whom he derived considerable assistance, which, at every 
convenient opportunity, he very readily and gratefully 
acknowledg-ed. The remarks of others, however, to whose 
notice he had been persuaded to submit parts of his manu- 
script, were so frivolous and perfectly hypercritical, as to 
occasion him considerable vexation. Of this, the closing- 
remarks of the last, and the whole of the following extract 
will afford ample proof. " The vexation and perplexity that 
attends a multiplicity of criticisms by various hands, many 
of which are sure to be futile, many of them unfounded, and 
some of them contradictory to others, is inconceivable, ex- 
cept by the author, whose ill-fated work happens to be the 
subject of them. This also appears to me self-evident, that 
if a work have passed under the review of one man of taste 
and learning, and have had the g-ood fortune to please him, 
his approbation gives security for that of all others qualified 
like himself. I speak thus, after having just escaped such a 
storm of trouble, occasioned by endless remarks, hints, sug- 
gestions, and objections, as drove me almost to despair, and 
to the very verge of a resolution to drop my undertaking for 
ever. With infinite difficulty, I at last sifted the chaff from 
the wheat, availed myself of what appeared to me just, and 
rejected the rest, but not till the labour and anxiety had 
nearly undone all that one judicious critic had been doing for 
me. — I assure you, I can safely say, that vanity and self- 
importance had nothing to do in all this distress that I suf- 
fered. It was merely the effect of an alarm that I could not 
help taking, when I compared the great trouble I had with a 
few lines only thus handled, with that which I foresaw such 
handling of the whole must necessarily give me. I felt be- 
forehand that my constitution would not bear it. Though 
Johnson's friend has teased me sadly, I verily believe that I 
shall have no more such cause to complain of him.»'We now 
understand one another, and I firmly believe that I might 
have gone the world through before I had found his equal in 
an accurate and familiar acquaintance with the original. 
Though he is a foreigner, he has a perfect knowledge of the 
English language, and can consequently appreciate its beau- 
ties, as well as discover its defects. 

" The animadversions of the critic you sent me, hurt me 
more than they would have done, had they come from a per- 
son from whom I might have expected such treatment. In part 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 137 

they appeared to me unjust, and in part ill-natured ; and, the 
man himself being an oracle in almost everybody's account, I 
apprehended that he had done me much mischief. Why he 
says that the translation is far from exact is best known 
to himself. For I know it to be as exact as is compati- 
ble with poetry ; and prose translations of Homer are not 
wanted. The world has one already. I am greatly pleased 
with the amendments of a friend, to whom I sent a specimen, 
which he has returned amended with so much taste and can- 
dour, and accompanied with so many expressions of kind- 
ness, that it quite charmed me. He has chiefly altered the 
lines encumbered with elisions, and I will just take this op- 
portunity to tell you, because I know you to be as much 
interested in what I write as myself, that some of the most 
offensive of these elisions were occasioned by mere criticism. 
I was fairly hunted into them by vexatious objections, made 
without end by , and his friends, and altered, and alter- 
ed, till at last I scarcely cared how i altered. I am not na- 
turally insensible, and the sensibilities I had by nature have 
been wonderfully enhanced by a long series of shocks, given 
to a frame of nerves that was never very athletic. I feel ac- 
cordingly, whether painful or pleasant, in the extreme ; am 
easily elevated, and easily cast down. The power of a critic 
freezes my poetical powers, and discourages me to such a 
degree, that makes me ashamed of my own weakness. Yet 
I presently recover my confidence again, especially when I 
have every reason to believe, as in the case you refer to, that 
a critic's censures are harsh and unreasonable, and arise 
more from his own wounded and mortified feelings, than from 
any defect in the work itself." 

Notwithstanding the irritation produced in the mind of the 
poet by the trifling amendments and vexatious criticisms of 
some whom he had been persuaded to consult, he never- 
theless persevered in the translation, with undiminished 
activity, and gave abundant proof that he possessed that real 
greatness of mind which alone could enable him to under- 
take and accomplish a work of so great magnitude. To 
Lady Hesketh he thus discloses the state of his mind in this 
respect. " Your anxious wishes for my success delight me, 
and you may rest assured that I have all the ambition on the 
subject that you can wish me to feel. I more than admire 
my author. I often stand astonished at his beauties. I am for 
ever amused with the translation of him, and I have received 
a thousand encouragements : these are all so many happy 
omens, that I hope will be verified by the event. I am not 
12* 



138 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

ashamed to confess that, having commenced an author, I am 
most abimdantly desirous to succeed as such. I have (what 
perhaps you little suspect me of) in my nature an infinite 
share of ambition. But with it, I have at the same time, as 
you will know, an equal share of diffidence. To this combi- 
nation of opposite qualities it has been owing, that till lately, 
I stole through life- without undertaking any thing, yet 
always wishing to distinguish myself. At last I ventured, 
ventured too in the only path that, at so late a period, was 
yet open to me, and am determined, if God have not deter- 
mined otherwise, to work my way through the obscurity that 
has been so long my portion, into notice. Everything, 
therefore, that seems to threaten this my favourite purpose, 
with disappointment, affects me severely. I suppose that all 
ambitious minds are in the same predicament. He who seeks 
distinction must be sensible of disapprobation, exactly in the 
same proportion as he desires applause. I have thus, my 
dear cousin, unfolded my heart to you in this particular, 
Avithout a speck of dissimulation. Some people, and good 
people too, would blame me, but you will not ; and they, I 
think, would blame without just cause. We certainly do not 
honour God when we bury, or when we neglect to improve, 
as far as we can, whatever talent he may have bestowed upon 
us, whether it be little or much. In natural things, as well 
as spiritual, it is a never-failing truth, that to him who hath, 
(that is to him who employs what he hath diligently, and 
so as to increase it) more shall be given. Set me down, 
therefore, my dear cousin, for an industrious rhymer, so long- 
as I shall have ability. For in this only way is it possible 
for me, so far as I can see, either to honour God, or even to 
serve mj'self." . 

In reply to the apprehensions expressed by some of his 
correspondents, that the confinement and close application 
which this work necessarily required, would prove injurious 
to his health, and be likely to increase his depression, he 
made the following remarks. " You may well wonder at 
my courage, who have undertaken a work of such enormous 
length, you would wonder more if you knew I translated the 
whole Iliad, with no other help than a Clavis. But I have 
since equipped myself for this immense journej'', and am 
revising the work in company with a good commentator. I, 
thank you for the solicitude you express on the subject of my 
present studies. The work is undoubtedly long and labo- 
rious, but it has an end, and proceeding leisurely, with a due 
attention to air and exercise, it is possible that I may live to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 139 

finish it. Assure yourself of one thing, that though to a by- 
stander, it may seem an occupation surpassing the powers of 
a constitution never very athletic, and, at present, not a little 
the worse for wear, I can invent for myself no employment 
that does not exhaust my spirits more. I will not pretend to 
account for this, I will only say that it is not the language of 
predilection for a favourite amusement, but that the fact is 
really so. I have ever found that those plaything avocations 
which one may execute almost without any attention, fatigue 
me, and wear me away, while such as engage me much, and 
attach me closely, are rather serviceable to me than other- 
wise." 

During the whole of Cowper's residence at Olney, he re- 
tained the same sentiments of affectionate sympathy for the 
sufferings of the poor that he had evinced when he first came 
among them. And though he had experienced some painful 
proofs of their insensibility, ingratitude, and unkindness, yet 
his heart had often been made to rejoice with those, whom, 
either his own liberality, or the liberality of his friends had 
enabled him to relieve. Aware that it afforded him so much 
pleasure to be employed in communicating happiness to 
others, his friends often placed at his disposal such things 
as they felt inclined to distribute. The following interesting 
extract from a letter to Mr. Unwin, proves how highly he was 
gratified in being thus benevolently employed. "I have 
thought with pleasure of the summer that you have had in 
your heart, while you have been employed in softening the 
severity of winter, in behalf of so many who must otherwise 
have been exposed to it. You never said a better thing in 

your life than when you assured Mr. of the expedience 

of a gift of bedding to the poor at Olney. There is no one 
article of this world's comforts, with which, as Falstaffsays, 
they are so heinously unprovided. When a poor woman, and 
an honest one, whom we know well, carried home two pair 
of blankets, a pair for herself and husband, and a pair for her 
six children, that you kindly placed at my disposal, as soon 
as the children saw them, they jumped out of their straw, 
caught them in their arms, kissed them, blessed them, and 
danced for joy. An old woman, a very old one, the first 
night that she found herself so comfortably covered, could 
not sleep a wink, being kept awake by the contrary emotions 
of transport on the one hand, and the fear of not being thank- 
ful enough on the other." 

After the publication of Cowper's second volume, and pre- 
vious to his removal from Olney, he had renewed his corre- 



140 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

spondence with some relatives and friends with whom he 
had formerly been on terms of intimacy, but Avho seemed al- 
most to have forgotten him, until the popularity of his publi- 
cations arrested their attention. Among these were General 
Cowper, and Rev. Walter Bagot. Cowper's letters to the 
latter prove that his attachment to him was not slight and 
superficial, but deep and fervent. In February, 1786, it 
pleased God to deprive Mr. Bagot of his amiable and accom- 
plished wife, who was respected and beloved by all who 
knew her. On this melancholy occasion Cowper wrote to 
him as follows : " Alas ! alas I my dear, dear friend, may 
God himself comfort you ! I will not be so absurd as to at- 
tempt it. By the close of your letter, it should seem that in 
this hour of great trial, he withholds not his consolations 
from you. I know by experience that they are neither few 
nor small ; and though I feel for you as I never felt for man 
before, yet do I sincerely rejoice in this, that, whereas there 
is but one comforter in the universe, under afflictions such as 
yours, you both know Him, and know where to seek Him. 
I thought you a man the most happily mated that I had ever 
seen, and had great pleasure in your felicity. Pardon me, if 
now I feel a wish, that, short as my acquaintance with her 
was, I had never steen her, I should then have mourned with 
you, but not as I do now. Mrs. Unwin also sympathizes 
with you most sincerely, and you neither are, nor will be 
soon forgotten, in such prayers as we can make. I will not 
detain you longer now, my poor afflicted friend, than to com- 
mit you to the mercy of God, and to bid you a sorrowful 
adieu. May God be with you, my friend, and give you a 
just measure of submission to his will, the most effectual re- 
medy for the evils of this changing scene. I doubt not that 
he has granted you this blessing already, and may he still 
continue it." 



( 141 ) 



CHAPTER XII. 



Pleasure he enjoyed in his new residence — Sudden deaih of Mrs. 
Unwiii's son — Coivper''s distress on the occasion — Experiences 
a severe attack of illness — is compelled to relinquish, for a time, 
his labours of translation — Mr, Bose^s Jirst visit to him — His 
sudden recovery — Manner of spending his time — Peculiarities 
of his case — Is dissuaded from resuming his translation — His 
determination to persevere in it — Applies to it with the utmost 
diligence — Great care with which he translated it — His admi- 
ration of the original — Providential preservation of Mrs, Un- 
toiii — His painful depression unremoved. 

Br the end of November, 1786, Cowper was comfortably 
settled in his new residence at Weston. The house was de- 
lightfully situated, very near that of his friendly and accom- 
plished landlord, Sir John Throckmorton, with whom he was 
now on terms of intimacy, and who had given him the full 
use of his spacious and agreeable pleasure grounds. This 
afforded him an opportunity, at almost all seasons, of taking 
that degree of exercise in the open air, which he always found 
so conducive to his health. The following extracts from his 
first letter to Lady Hesketh, after entering on his new abode, 
describes the state of his feelings, and proves how truly he 
enjoyed the change. " November 26, 1786. It is my birth- 
day, my beloved cousin, and I determine to employ a part of 
it that is not destitute of festivity, in writing to you. The 
dark thick fog that has obscured it, would have been a bur- 
then to me at Olney, but here I have hardly attended to it. 
The neatness and snugness of our abode, compensates for all 
the dreariness of the season, and whether the ways are wet 
or dry, our house at least, is always warm and commo- 
dious. Oh ! for you my cousin, to partake of these comforts 
with us ! I will not begin already to tease you upon that sub- 
ject, but Mrs. Unwin remembers to have heard from your 
own lips, that you hate London in the spring, perhaps, there- 
fore, by that time, you may be glad to escape from a scene 
which will be every day growing more disagreeable, that 
you may enjoy the comforts of the Lodge. You \vell know 



142 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

that the hest house has a desolate appearance unfurnished. 
This house accordingljr, since it has been occupied by us, and | 
our meubles, is as much superior to what it was when you 
saw it, as j^ou can imagine ; the parlour is even elegant. 
When I say that the parlour is elegant, I do not mean to insinu- 
ate that the study is not so. It is neat, warm, and silent, 
and a much better study than I deserve, if I do not produce in it 
an incomparable translation of Homer. I think every day of 
those lines of Milton, and congratulate myself on having ob- 
tained, before I am quite superannuated, what he seems not 
to have hoped for sooner." 

" And may at length my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hei-mitage." 

"For if it is not an hermitage, at least it is a much better 
thing, and you must always understand, my dear, that when 
poets talk of cottages, hermitages, and such like things, they 
mean a house with six sashes in front, two comfortable par- 
lours, a smart stair-case, and three bed-chambers, of conve- 
nient dimensions ; in short, exactly such a house as this is." 

"The Throckmortons continue the most obliging neigh- 
bours in the world. One morning last week, they both went 
with me to the cliffs — a scene, my dear, in which you would 
delight beyond measure, but which you cannot visit except 
in the spring, or autumn. The heat of summer and clinging 
dirt of winter would destroy you. What is called the cliff, 
is no cliff, nor at all like one, but a beautiful terrace, sloping 
gently down to the base, and from the brow of which, though 
it is not lofty, you have a view of such a valley, as makes 
that which you saw from the hills near Olney, and which 
I have had the honour to celebrate, an affair of no considera- 
tion." 

" Wintry as the weather is, do not suspect that it confines 
me. I ramble daily, and every day change my ramble. 
Wherever I go, I find short grass under my feet, and when I 
have travelled perhaps, five miles, come home with shoes not 
at all too dirty for a drawing-room." 

CoM'per was scarcely settled in his new abode, and had 
hardly had time to participate of its enjoyments, before an 
event occurred, which plunged both him and Mrs. Unwin 
into the deepest distress. It pleased God, who does every- 
thing according to his will, with angels as well as with men, 
all whose dispensations, mysterious as some of them may 
appear, are conducted on principles of unerring wisdom, and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 143 

infinite benevolence, to remove from this scene of toil and la- 
bour, to regions of peace and happiness, Mrs. Unwin's son, 
in the prime of life, and in a manner the most sudden and un- 
expected. Cowper had always loved him as a brother, and 
had most unreservedly communicated his mind to him, on all 
occasions. Their attachment to each other was mutually 
strong, cordial, and affectionate. The loss of such a friend 
could not fail to make a deep impression on the poet's mind, 
and the following extracts will show how much he felt on 
the occasion. " I find myself here situated exactly to my 
mind. Weston is one of the prettiest villages in England, 
the walks about it are at all seasons of the year delightful. 
We had just begun to enjoy the pleasantness of our new si- 
tuation, to find at least as much comfort in it as the season 
of the year would permit, when affliction found us out in our 
retreat, and the news reached us of the death of Mr. Unwin. 
He had taken a western tour with Mr. Henry Thornton, and 
on his return, at Winchester, was seized with a putrid fever, 
which sent him to his grave. He is gone to it, however, 
though young, as fit for it as age itself could have made him. 
Regretted indeed, and always to be regretted by those who 
knew him ; for he had everything that makes a man valua- 
ble, both in his principles and in his manners, but leaving 
still this consolation to his surviving friends ; that he was de- 
sirable in this world, chiefly because he was so well prepared 
for a better." 

" The death of one whom I valued as I did Mr. Unwin, is 
a subject on which I could say much, and with much feeling. 
But habituated as my mind has been these many years to 
melancholy themes, I am glad to excuse myself the contem- 
plation of them as much as possible. I will only observe 
that the death of so young a man, whom I saw so lately in 
good health, and whose life was so desirable on every ac- 
count, lias something in it peculiarly distressing. I cannot 
think of the widow and the children he has left without an 
heart-ache that I remember not to have felt before. We may 
well say that the ways of God are mysterious : in truth they 
are so, and to a degree that only such events can give us any 
conception of. Mrs. Unwin's life has been so much a life of 
affliction, that whatever occurs to her in that shape, has not 
at least, the terrors of novelty to embitter it. She is support- 
ed under this, as she has been under a thousand others, with 
a submission of which I never saw her deprived for a mo- 
ment." 

"Though my experience has long since taught me that 



144 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

this world is a world of shadows, and that it is the more] 
prudent, as well as the more christian course, to possess the 
comforts that we find in it, as if we possessed them not, it ia' 
no easj' matter to reduce this doctrine to practice. We forget 
that that God who gave them, ma}', when he pleases, take 
them away ; and that, perhaps, it may please him to take them 
away at a time when we least expect it, and are least dis- 
posed to part with them. Thus it has happened in the present 
case. There never was a moment in Unwin's life when there 
seemed to be more urgent want of him than the moment in 
which he died. He had attained to an age, when, if they 
are at any time useful, men become more useful to their fa- 
milies, their friends, and the world. His parish began to 
feel, and to be sensible of the value of his ministry ; his chil- 
dren were thriving under his own tuition and management. 
The removal of a man in the prime of life, of such a charac- 
ter, and with such connections, seems to make a void in soci- 
ety that can never be filled. God seemed to have made him just 
what he was, that he might be a blessing to others, and when 
the influence of his character and abilities began to be felt, 
removed him. These are mysteries that we cannot contem- 
plate without astonishment, but which will nevertlieless be ex- 
plained hereafter, and must in the mean time, be revered in si- 
lence. It is well for Mrs. Unwin that she has spent her life in 
the practice of an habitual acquiescence in the dispensations of 
Providence, else I know that this stroke would have been 
heavier, after all that she has suffered upon another account, 
than she could have borne. She derives, as she well ma)', 
great consolation from the thought that he lived the life, and 
died the death of a christian. The consequence is, if possi- 
ble, more certain than the most mathematical conclusion, that 
therefore he is happy." 

Cowper had scarcely given vent to his feelings on the me- 
lancholy occurrence of Mr. Unwin's decease, when he was 
himself again visited by severe indisposition. His depressive 
malady returned, with all its baleful consequences, and pre- 
vented him for more than six months, either from doing any- 
thing with his translation of Homer, or carrying on his cor- 
respondence with his friends, or even from enjoying the con- 
versation of those with whom he was most intimately asso- 
ciated, and whom he loved most affectionately. It is highly 
probable, that the painful feelings, occasioned by a too fre- 
quent recurrence to the apparently disastrous consequences, 
that must be the result of his friend's removal, occasioned this 
attack. His mind bore up under the first shock with compa- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 145 

rative firmness, but his intense feelings, perhaps, pictured its 
remote effects in colours much more gloomy than were ever 
likely to be realised. Such seems to have been the case with 
him at the death of his brother. He attended him in his dying 
hours, saw him gradually sink into the arms of death, ar- 
ranged all the affairs of his funeral, and then, when other per- 
sons less susceptible of feeling, would in all probability have 
forgotten the event, his apprehensive mind invested it with 
imaginary horrors that were to him insupportable. 

This affliction of Cowper's commenced in the early part of 
January, 1787. In his letters .to his cousin, he thus adverts 
to the first symptoms of it. " I have had a little nervous fe- 
ver lately that has somewhat abridged my sleep, and though 
I find myself better to-day than I have been since it seized 
me, yet I feel my head lightish, and not in the best order for 
writing." In the next letter to the same correspondent, writ- 
ten about a week afterwards — the last he wrote to any of his 
correspondents until his recovery, he again adverts to the pro- 
gress of his complaint. " I have been so much indisposed 
with the nervous fever, that I told you in my last had seized 
me, my nights, during the whole week, may be said to have 
been almost sleepless. The consequence has been that, ex- 
cept the translation of about thirty lines at the conclusion of 
the thirteenth book, I have been forced to abandon Homer en- 
tirely. This was a sensible mortification to me as j'^ou may 
suppose, and felt the 'more, because my spirits of course fail- 
ing with my strength, I seemed to have peculiar need of my 
old amusement. It seemed hard, therefore, to be forced to 
resign it, just when I wanted it most. But Homer's battles 
cannot be fought by a man who does not sleep well, and who 
has not some little degree of animation in the day time. Last 
night, however, quite contrary to my expectation, the fever 
left me entirely, and I slept soundly, quietly, and long. If 
it please God that it return not, I shall soon find myself in a 
condition to proceed. I walk constantly, that is to say, Mrs. 
Unwin and I together : for at these times I keep her con- 
tinually employed, and never suffer her to be absent from me 
many minutes. She gives me all her time, and all her at- 
tention, and forgets that there is another object in the world 
besides myself." 

About this time, that intimacy between Cowper and Sa- 
muel Rose, Esq., which subsequently ripened into a friend- 
ship that nothing but death could dissolve, commenced. At 
the close of the letter from which we made our last extract, 
Cowper thus adverts to the circumstance. "A young gen- 



146 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

tleman called here yesterday, who came six miles out of his 
wa)"^ to see me. He was on a journey to London from Glas- 
gow, having just left the university there. He came I sup- 
pose, partly to satisfy his own curiosity, but chiefly, as it 
seemed, to bring me the thanks of some of the Scotch pro- 
fessors for my two volumes. His name is Rose, an En- 
glishman. Your spirits being good, you will derive more 
pleasure from this incident than I can at present, therefore I 
send it." Notwithstanding the depression of mind which 
Cowper was beginning again to experience, when this unex- 
pected interview between him and Mr. Rose took place, and 
his consequent aversion to the visits of any one, but especially 
strangers, yet he was so highly pleased with his new friend, 
that he commenced a correspondence with him immediately 
on recovering his health ; and he ever regarded it as a provi- 
dential circumstance, and a token of the goodness of God to- 
wards him, in giving him a friend and a correspondent, who 
in some measure, at least, supplied the loss he had experi- 
enced by the death of Mr. Unwin. 

In February, 1787, Cowper's depressive malady had so 
greatly increased that his mind became again enveloped in the 
deepest gloom. The following extracts from his letters, writ- 
ten after his recovery, which took place in the ensuing au- 
tumn, will best describe the painful and distressing state to 
which he was reduced : — " My indisposition could not be of 
a worse kind. Had I been afflicted with a fever, or confined 
by a broken bone, neither ot these cases would have made it 
impossible that we should meet. I am truly sorry that the 
impediment was insurmountable while it lasted, for such, 
in fact, it was. The sight of any face, except Mrs. Unwin's, 
was to me an insupportable grievance ; and when it has hap- 
pened, that by forcing himself into my hiding place, some 
friend has found me out, he has had no great cause to exult 
in his success, as Mr. Bull could tell you. From this dread- 
ful condition of mind, I emerged suddenly; so suddenly that 
Mrs. Unwin, having no notice of such a change herself, could 
give none to any body ; and when it obtained, how long it 
might last, and hovr far it might be depended upon, was a 
matter of the greatest uncertainty. It affects me on the recol- 
lection with the more concern, because it has deprived me of 
an interview with you, and has prevented you from visiting 
others who would have been very glad to see you." 

In the midst of Cowper's severe attack, his friend, Mr 
Rose, paid him another visit, and was greatly distressed to 
find him reduced to such a degree of wretchedness that he 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 147 

could not be prevailed upon to converse with him on any sub- 
ject. Cowper, as soon as he began to feel theslig-htest symp- 
toms of recovery, recollected the great sympathy and disinter- 
ested kindness of his new friend, and he took care to present 
him with the first productions of his pen. In the last week 
of July, 1787, he thus addressed him : — " This is the first time 
I have \\Titten this six months ; and nothing but the con- 
straint of obligation could induce me to write now. I cannot be 
so wanting to myself as not to endeavour, at least, to thank 
you, both for the visits with which you have favoured me, 
and the poem that you have sent me. In my present state 
of mind I taste nothing, nevertheless I read, — partly from 
habit, and partly because it is the only thing I am capable 
of." A month afterwards he again wrote to the same corre- 
spondent. " I have not yet taken up my pen, except to write 
to you. The little taste that I have had of your company, 
and your kindness in finding me out, make me wish that we 
were nearer neighbours, and that there were not so great a 
disparity in our years ; that is to say, not that you were 
older, but that I was younger. Could we have met early in 
life, I flatter myself that we might have been more intimate 
than now we are likely to be. But you shall not find me 
slow to cultivate such a measure of your regard as your 
friends of your own age can spare me. I hope the same kind- 
ness, which has prompted you twice to call on me, will 
prompt you again ; and I shall be happy, if, on a future oc- 
casion, I shall be able to give you a more cheerful reception 
than can be expected from an invalid. My health and spirits 
are considerably improved, and I once more associate with 
my neighbours. My head, however, has been the worst part 
of me, and still continues so ; is subject to giddiness and pain, 
maladies very unfavourable to poetical employment : but I 
feel some encouragement to hope that I may possibly, before 
long, find myself able to resume the translation of Homer. 
When I cannot walk, I read, and read perhaps more than is 
good for me. But I cannot be idle. The only mercy that I 
show myself in this respect is, that I read nothing that re- 
quires much closeness of application." 

Cowper was now recovered sufficiently to resume his cor- 
respondence with Lady Hesketh, and the following extracts 
will throw some additional light on the gradually improving 
state of his health, and on the manner in which he then 
spent his time. " My dear cousin, though it costs me some- 
thing to write, it would cost me more to be silent. My in- 
tercourse with my neighbours being renewed, I can no longer 



148 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

forget how many reasons there are, why you especiallyl 
should not be neglected ; no neighbour, indeed, but thej 
kindest of my friends, and ere long, I hope an inmate. My : 
health and spirits seem to be mending daily. To what end 
I know not, neither will conjecture, but endeavour, as far as 
I can, to be content that they do so. I use exercise, and 
take the air in the park ; I read much ; have lately read 
Savary's Travels in Egypt; Memoirs of Baron du Tott; 
Fenn's Original Letters ; the Letters of Frederick of Bohe- 
mia; and am now reading Memoirs d'Henri de Lorraine, 
Due de Guise. I have also read Barclay's Argenis, a Latin 
romance, and the best romance that was ever written. All 
these, together with Madan's Letters to Priestly, and several 
pamphlets, I have read within these two months. So that 
you will say I am a great reader. I, however, write but lit- 
tle, because writing is become new to me ; but I shall come 
on by degrees, and hope to regain the use of my pen before 
long. Our friends at the Hall make themselves more and 
more amiable in our account, by treating us. rather as old 
friends, that as friends newly acquired. There are few days 
in which we do not meet, and I am now almost as much at 
home in their house as in my own. I have the free use of 
their library, an acquisition of great value to me, as I cannot 
live without books. By this means, I have been so well sup- 
plied, that I have not yet even looked at the Lounger, which 
you were so kind as to send me. His turn comes next, and 
I shall probably begin him to-morrow." 

Cowper's correspondence with Mr. Newton, had now been 
suspended for some months. In the beginning of the ensu- 
ing October he renewed it ; and the following extracts will 
afford some interesting information respecting the peculiarity 
of his case. " My Dear Friend — After a long but necessary 
interruption of our correspondence, I return to it again, in one 
respect, at least, better qualified for it than before ; I mean 
by a belief of your identity, which for thirteen years, strange 
and unaccountable as it may appear, I did not believe. The 
acquisition of this light, if light it may be called, which 
leaves me as much in the dark as ever, on the most interest- 
ing subjects, releases me, however, from the most disagreea- 
ble suspicion that I am addressing myself to you as the 
friend whom I loved and valued so highly in my better days, 
while in fact you are not that friend but a stranger. I can 
now write to you without seeming to act a part, and without 
having any need to charge myself with dissimulation; a 
charge from which, in that state of mind, and under such an un- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 149 

comfortable persuasion, I know not how to exculpate myself, 
and which, as you will easily conceive, not seldom made my 
correspondence with you a burden. Still, indeed, it wants, 
and is likely to want, that best ingredient, which alone can 
make it truly pleasant, either to myself or you — that spirit- 
uality which once enlivened all our intercourse. You will 
tell me, no doubt, that the knowledge I have gained is an 
earnest of more, and more valuable information too ; and 
that the dispersion of the clouds in part, promises, in due 
time, their complete dispersion. I should be happy to believe 
it : but the power to do so is at present far from me. Never 
was the mind of man benighted to a degree that mine 
has been. The storms that have assailed me would have 
overset the faith of every man that ever had any; and the 
very remeinbrance of them, even, after they have been long 
passed by, makes hope impossible. Mrs. Unwin, whose 
poor bark is still held together, though much shattered by 
being tossed and agitated so long at the side of mine, does 
not forget yours and Mrs. Newton's kindness on this last 
occasion. Mrs. Newton's offer to come to her assistance, 
and your readiness to have rendered us the same service, 
could you have hoped for any salutary effect of your presence, 
neither Mrs. Unwin nor myself undervalue, nor Shall pre- 
sently forget. But you judged right when you supposed that 
even your company would have been no relief to me ; the 
company of my father or my brother, could they have been 
returned from the dead to visit me, would have been none. 
We are now busy in preparing for the reception of Lady 
Hesketh, whom we expect here shortly. Mrs. Unwin's 
time has, of course, been lately occupied to a degree that 
made writing to her impracticable ; and she excused herself 
the rather, knowing my intentions to take her office. It does 
not, however, suit me to write much at a time. This last 
tempest has left my nerves in a worse condition than it found 
them ; my head especially, though better informed, is more 
infirm than ever ; I will therefore only add, that I rejoice to 
hear Mrs. Cowper has been so comfortably supported under 
her heavy trial. She must have severely felt the loss of her 
son. She has an affectionate heart towards her children, and 
could not but be sensible of the bitterness of such a cup. But 
God's presence sweetens every bitter. Desertion is the only 
evil that a christian cannot bear." 

Cowper's friends were all delighted to see him again in 
full possession of his mental powers ; and, as many of them 
attributed his last attack to the irritation and fatigue occa- 
13* 



150 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

sioned by his translation of Homer, they endeavoured to dis- 
suade him from pursuing it, and recommended him to confine 
his attention to original poetry. Cowper was not, however, 
to be diverted from his purpose without an irrefragable proof 
of its injurious tendency, and he had formed a very different 
opinion on the subject to that of his friends. In a letter to 
Mr. Newton, he particularly adverts to it. — "I have many 
kind friends, who, like yourself, wish that, instead of turning 
my endeavours to a translation of Homer, I had proceeded in 
the way of original poetry. But I can truly say, that it was 
ordered otherwise, not by me, but by that God who governs 
all my thoughts and directs all my intentions as he pleases. 
It may seem strange, but it is true, that after having written 
a volume, in general, with great ease to myself, I found it 
impossible to write another page. The mind of man is not 
a fountain, but a cistern ; and mine, God knows, a broken 
one. It is my creed, that the intellect depends as much, 
both for the energ)'- and the multitude of its exertions, uporr 
the operations of God's agency upon it, as the heart, for the 
exercise of its graces, upon the influence of the Holy Spirit. 
According to this persuasion, I may very reasonably affirm, 
that it was not God's good pleasure that I should proceed in 
the same track, because he did not enable me to do it. A 
whole year I waited, and waited in circumstances of mind 
that made a state of mere employment peculiarly irksome to 
me. I longed for the pen as the only remedy, but I could 
find no subject: extreme distress at last, drove rne, as, if I 
naistake not, I told you some time since, to lay Homer before 
me, and translate for amusement. Why it pleased God that 
I should be hunted into such a business, of such enormous 
length and labour, by miseries for which he did not see good 
to afford me any other remedy, I know not. But so it was ; 
and jejune as the consolation may be, and unsuited to the 
exigencies of a mind that once was spiritual, yet a thousand 
times have I been glad of it, for a thousand times it has 
served, at least, to divert my attention in some degree, from 
such terrible tempests as I believe have seldom been permit- 
ted to beat upon a human mind. Let my friends, therefore, 
wiio Avish me some little measure of tranquillity in the per- 
formance of the most turbulent voyage that ever Christian 
mariner made, be contented, that having Homer's mountains 
and forests to windward, I escape, under their shelter, from 
many a gust of melancholy depression that would almost 
overset me, especially when they consider that, not by 
choice, but by necessity, I make them my refuge. As to the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 151 

fame, and honour, and glory, that may be acquired by poeti- 
cal feats of any sort, God knows, that if I could lay me down 
in my grave with hope at my side, or sit with this compa- 
nion in a dungeon all the residue of my days, I would cheer- 
fully waive them all. For, the little fame that I have already 
earned, has never saved me from one distressing night, or 
from one despairing day, since I first acquired it. Fur what 
I am reserved, or to what, is a mystery ; I would fain hope» 
not merely that I may amuse others, or only to be a transla- 
tor of Homer." 

Ten months had now elapsed since Cowpei had laid aside 
his translation, and as Johnston, the publisher, had been in- 
formed of his recovery, he wrote to require him to persevere 
in the work with as little delay as possible. — Cowper imme- 
diately recommenced the undertaking, and again entered upon 
it with all his former spirit and activity. The following ex- 
tracts will show that his affliction had not deprived him of 
the vigour of his mind, or produced in him the slightest dis- 
inclination to engage in this laborious work. " I am as 
heretofore occupied with Homer ; my present occupation is 
the revisal of all I have done, which is the first fifteen books. 
I stand amazed at my own increasing dexterity in the busi- 
ness, being verily persuaded that as far as 1 have gone, I 
have improved the work to double its value. I will assure 
you, that it engages, unavoidably, my whole attention. The 
length of it, the spirit of it, and the exactness requisite to its 
due performance, are so many inost interesting subjects of 
consideration to me, who find that my best attempts are only 
introductory to others, and, that what to-day I supposed finish- 
ed, to-morrow I must begin again. Thus it fares with a trans- 
lator of Homer. — To exhibit the majesty of such a poet in a 
modern language, is a task that no man can estimate the diffi- 
culty of till he attempts it. To paraphrase him loosely, to hang 
him with trappings that do not belong to him, all this is compa- 
ratively easy. But to represent hijn with only his own orna- 
ments, and still to preserve his dignity, is a labour, that if I 
hope in any measure to achieve it, I am sensible can only be 
achieved by the most assiduous and most unremitting atten- 
tion ; a perseverance that nothing can discourage, a minute- 
ness of observation that suffers nothing to escape, and a de- 
termination not to be seduced from the straight line that lies 
before us, by any images which fancy may present. There are 
perhaps, few arduous undertakings that are not, in fact, more 
arduous than we at first supposed them. As we proceed, 
difficulties increase upon us, but our hopes gather strength 



1 52 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

also, and we conquer difficulties, which, could we have fore- 
seen them, we should never have had the boldness to encoun- 
ter. You possess by nature all that is necessary to success 
in the profession you have chosen. What remains is in your 
own power. They say of poets, that they must be born such ; 
so must mathematicians, so must great generals, so must 
lawyers, and so indeed must men of all denominations, or it 
is not possible that they should excel. But with whatever 
faculties we are born, and to whatever studies our genius 
li^iy direct us, studies they must still be. I am persuaded 
that Milton did not write his Paradise Lost, nor Homer his 
Iliad, nor Newton his Principia, without immense labour. 
Nature gave them a bent to their respective pursuits, and 
that strong propensity, I suppose, is what we mean by genius. 
The rest they gave themselves." 

" My first thirteen books of Homer have been criticised in 
London ; have been by me accommodated to these criticisms ; 
returned to London in their improved state, and sent back to 
Weston with an imprimantur. This would satisfy some 
poets less anxious than myself about what they expose in 
public, but it has not satisfied me. I am now revising them 
again, by the light of my own critical taper, and make more 
alterations than at the first. But are they improvements'? 
you will ask. Is not the spirit of the work endangered by 
all this correctness] I think -and hope that it is not. Being 
well aware of the possibility of such a catastrophe, I guard 
particularly against it. Where I find a servile adherence to 
the original would render the passage less animated than it 
would be, I still, as at the first, allow myself a liberty. On all 
other occasions, I prune with an unsparing hand, determined 
that there shall not be found in the whole translation an idea 
that is not Homer's. My ambition is, to produce the closest 
copy possible, and at the same time, as harmonious as I can 
possibly make it. — ^This being my object, you will no longer 
think, if indeed you have thought it at all, that I am unne- 
cessarily, and overmuch industrious. The original surpasses 
everything ; it is of an immense length, is composed in the 
best language ever used upon earth, and deserves, indeed de- 
mands, all the labour that any translator, be he who he may, 
can possibly bestow upon it. At present, mere English 
readers know no more of Homer in reality, than if he had 
never been translated. That consideration indeed it was, 
which mainly induced me to the undertaking ; and if after 
all, either through idleness or dotage, upon what I have al- 
ready done, I leave it chargeable with the same incorrectness 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 153 

as my predecessors, or, indeed, with any other that I may be 
able to amend, I had much better have amused myself other- 
wise. I am now in the nineteenth book of the Iliad, and oxx 
the point of displaying such feats of heroism, performed by 
Achilles, as make all other achievements trivial. I may well 
exclaim, Oh, for a muse of fire! especially, having not only a 
great host to cope with, but a great river also ; much, how- 
ever, may be done when Homer leads the way. What would 
I give if he were now living, and within my reach! 1, of all 
men living, have the best excuse for indulging such a wish, 
unreasonable as it may seem, for I have no doubt the fire of 
his eyes, and the smile of his lips, would put me, now and 
then, in possession of his full meaning more effectually than 
any commentator!" 

The close application of Cowper, to the translation of 
Homer, was not allowed to suspend, though it in some mea- 
sure interrupted, his correspondence with Mr. Newton. To 
him he still opened the state of his mind without the least 
reserve, and it will appear, from the following extracts, that 
he had lost, in no degree, his relish for the enjoyments of re- 
ligion, though his mind still continued under the influence of 
his depressive malady. " Your last letter informed us, that 
you were likely to be much occupied for some time in writ- 
ing on a subject that must be interesting to a person of your 
feelings — the Slave Trade. I was unwilling to interrupt 
your progress in so good a work, and have, therefore, en- 
joined myself a longer silence than I should otherwise have 
thought excusable, though, to say the truth, did not our once 
intimate fellowship in the things of God recur to my remem- 
brance, and present me with something like a warrant for 
doing it, I should hardly have prevailed upon myself to write 
at all. Letters such as mine, to a person of a character such 
as yours, are like snow in harvest; and you will say, that if 
I will send you a letter that you can answer, I shall make 
your part of the business easier than it is. This I would 
gladly do ; but though I abhor a vacuum, as much as nature 
herself is said to do, yet a vacuum^ I am bound to feel, of all 
such matter as may merit your perusal. I have lately been 
engaged in corresjjondence with a lady whom I never saw. 
She lives at Perton Hall, near Kimbolton, and is the wife of 
Dr. King, who has the living. She is evidently a Christian, 
and a very gracious one. I would that she had you for a cor- 
respondent, rather than me. One Itter from you would do 
her more good than a ream of mine. But so it is ; and though 
I despair of communicating to her anything that will be of 



154 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

much advantage, I must write to her this evening. Unde-1 
serving as I feel myself to be of divine protection, I am ne- 
vertheless receiving almost daily, I might indeed say hourly, 
proofs of it. A few days ago. Providence interfered to pre- 
serve me from the heaviest affliction that I could now suffer : the 
loss of Mrs. Unwin, and in a way too, the most shocking 
imaginable. Having kindled her fire in the room where she 
dresses, (an office that she always performs for herself,) she 
placed the candle on the hearth, and kneeling, addressed 
herself to her devotions ; a thought struck her while thus oc- 
cupied, that the candle, being short, might possibly catch 
her clothes, she pinched it out with the tongs, and set it on 
the table. In a few moments the chamber was so filled with 
smoke, that her eyes watered, and it was hardly possible to 
see across it. — Supposing that it proceeded from the chimney, 
she pushed the billets backward, and while she did so, cast- 
ing her eye downward, perceived that her dress was on fire. 
In fact, before she extinguished the candle, the mischief that 
she apprehended had begun ; and when she related the mat- 
ter to me, she showed me her clothes, with a hole burnt in 
them as large as this sheet of paper. It is not possible, per- 
haps, that so tragical a death could occiirto a person actually 
engaged in prayer, for her escape seems almost a miracle. 
Her presence of mind, by which she was enabled, without 
calling for help, or waiting for it, to gather up her clothes, 
and plunge them, burning as they were, in water, seems as 
wonderful a part of the occurrence as any. The very report 
of fire, though distant, has rendered hundreds torpid and in- 
capable of self-succour ; how much more was such a disabi- 
lity to be expected, when the fire had not seized a neigh- 
bour's house, or begun its devastations on our own, but was 
actually consuming the apparel that she wore, and seemed 
in possession of her person." 

The continued gloomy state of Cowper's mind will be 
seen by the following extract from a letter to his cousin, 
Lady Hesketh, with whom he corresponded, as nearly as 
possible, at stated and regular intervals, — January 30, 1788, 
he thus writes : " It is a fortnight since I heard from you, 
that is to say, a week longer than you have been accustomed 
to make me wait for a letter. I d o not forget that you have 
recommended it to me, on occasions somewhat similar, to 
banish all anxiety, and to ascribe your silence only to the in- 
terruptions of company. Good advice, my dear, but not easily 
taken by a man circumstanced as I am. I have learned in 
the school of adversity, a school from which I have no ex- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 155 

pectations tViat I shall ever be dismissed, to apprehend the 
worst, and have ever found it the only course in which I can 
indulge myself, without the least danger of incurring a dis- 
appointment. This kind of experience, continued through 
many years, has given me such an habitual bias to the gloomy 
side of everything, that I never have a moment's ease on any 
subject to which I am not indifferent. How then can I be 
easy, when I am left afloat upon a sea of endless conjectures, 
of which you furnish the occasion. Write, I beseech you, 
and do not forget that I am now a battered actor upon this 
turbulent stage, that what little vigour of mind I ever had, of 
the self-supporting kind I mean, has long since been broken, 
and, that though I can bear nothing well, yet anything better 
than a state of ignorance concerning your welfare. I have 
spent hours in the night, leaning upon my elbow, and won- 
dering Avhat your silence can mean, I entreat you, once 
more, to put an end to these speculations, which cost me 
more animal spirits than I can spare. I love you, my cousin, 
and cannot suspect either with or without cause, the least 
evil, in which you may be concerned, without being quietly 
troubled ! O, trouble ! the portion of mortals — but mine in par- 
ticular. Would I had never known thee, or could bid thee 
farewell for ever ! for, I meet thee at every turn, my pillows 
are stuffed with thee, my very roses smell of thee, and even 
my cousin, who would, I am sure, cure me of all trouble if 
she could, is sometimes innocently the cause of trouble to 
me!" 



'^r ( 156 ) 



CHAPTER XIII. 



Pressing invitations of his friends to write a poem on the Slave 
Trade — Reasons for declining it — Correspondence with Mrs, 
King — Particular description of his feelings — Death of Sir 
Ashley Couper — Description of his character — Great severity 
of Cowper^s depression — is again urged to wrj,te on the Slav&-m\ 
Trade — Jlgain declines it — Assigns particular reasons for it — * 
His indefatigable applicatiwi to Homer — Notice he took of 
passing events — Mr. and Mrs. Neioton's visit to Weston — 
The pleasure it afforded Coivper — Lady Hesketh^s visit — Com- 
pletion of the Iliad, and commencement of the Odyssey — His 
unwearied application to Homer not allowed to divert his at- 
tentioti from religion — Occasional composition of original poe- 
try — Readiness to listen to any alteration that might be sug- 
gested in his productions. 

Many of Cowper's friends were anxious to have him em- 
ploy his admirable powers in a poem on the abolition of sla- 
very, and Lady Hesketh wrote him several pressing invita- 
tions on the subject; to which he gave the following reply. 
" I have now three letters of yours, my dearest cousin, before 
me, all written in the space of a week, and must be, indeed, 
insensible of kindness, did I not feel yours on this occasion. 
I cannot describe to you, neither could you comprehend it if 
I could, the manner in which my mind is sometimes im- 
pressed with melancholy on particular subjects. Your late 
silence was such a subject. I heard, saw, and felt, a thou- 
sand terrible things, which had no real existence, and was 
haunted by them night and day, till they at last extorted from 
me that doleful epistle, which I have since wished had been 
burnt before I sent it. But the cloud has passed, and, as far 
as you are concerned, my heart is once more at rest. Before 
you gave me the hint contained in your last letters, I had 
once or twice, as I lay on my bed, watching the break of 
day, ruminated on the subject which you kindly recommend- 
ed to me. Slavery, or a release from slavery, such as the 
poor negroes have endured, or perhaps both these topics to- 
gether, appeared to me a theme so important at the present 
juncture, and at the same time so susceptible of practical ma- 



« 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 157 

nagement, that I more than once perceived myself ready to 
start in that cause, could I have allowed myself to desert Ho- 
mer for so long a time as it would have cost me to do them 
justice. While I was pondering these things, the public 
prints informed me that Miss More was on the point of pub- 
lication, having actually finished what I had not began. The 
sioht of her advertisement convinced me that my best course 
would be that to which I felt myself most inclined ; to perse- 
vere without turning aside to attend to any other call, how- 
ever alluring, in the business I have in hand. It occurred to 
me likewise, that I have lately borne my testimony in favour 
of my black brethren, and that I was one of the earliest, if 
not the first, of those who have, in the present day, expressed 
their detestation of the diabolical trade in question. On all 
these accounts I judged it best to be silent. I shall be glad 
to see Hannah More's poem; she is a favourite writer with 
me, and has more nerve and energy, both in her thoughts and 
language, than half the rhymers in the kingdom." 

It will be seen by the last extract made from Cowper's 
letters to Mr. Newton, that he had now commenced a corres- 
pondence with Mrs. King, and as his letters to that lady are 
highly interesting, we shall make such use of them as will 
be descriptive of the state of his mind at that period. "A 
letter from a lady who was once intimate with my brother, 
could not fail of being most acceptable to me. I lost him 
just at a moment when those truths which have recommend- 
ed my volumes to your approbation, were become his daily 
sustenance, as they had long been mine. But the will of 
God was done. I have sometimes thought that had his life 
been spared, being made brothers by a stricter tie than ever, 
in the bonds of the same faith, hope, and love, we should 
have been happier in each other than it was in the pmver of 
mere natural aflfection to make us. But it was his blessino- 
to be taken from a world in which he had no longer any wish 
to continue ; and it will be mine, if, while I live in it, my 
time may be not altogether wasted : in order to effect that 
good end, I wrote what I am happy to find has given you 
pleasure to read. But for that pleasure. Madam, you are in- 
debted neither to me nor to my muse ; but (as you are well 
aware) to Him who alone can make divine truths palatable, 
in whatever vehicle conveyed. It is an established philoso- 
phical axiom, that nothing can communicate what it has not 
in itself; but in the effects of Christian communion, a very 
strong exception is found to this general rule, however self- 
evident it may seem. A man, himself destitute of all spiri- 
14 



158 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



I 



tual consolation, may by occasion, impart it to others. Thui 
I, it seems, who wrote those very poems, to amuse a min( 
oppressed with melancholy, and who have myself derived 
from them no other benefit, (for mere success in authorship 
will do me no good,) have nevertheless, by so doing, com- 
forted others, at the same time that they administer to me no 
consolation. But I will proceed no farther in this strain, lest 
my prose should damp a pleasure that my verse has happily 
excited. On the contrary, I will endeavour to rejoice in your 
joy, and especially, because I have myself been the instru- 
ment of conveying it." 

" I owe you many acknowledgments, dear Madam, for that 
unreserved communication both of your history and of your 
sentiments, with which you honoured me in your last, it gives 
me great pleasure to learn that you are so happily circum- 
stanced, both in respect of situation and frame of mind. With 
your view of religious subjects, you could not indeed, speak- 
ing properly, be pronounced unhappy in any circumstances ; 
but to have received from above, not only that faith which 
reconciles the heart to affliction, but many outward comforts 
also, and especially that greatest of all earthly comforts, a 
comfortable home, is happiness indeed. May you long en- 
joy it! As to health' or sickness, you have learned already 
their true value, and know well that the former is no blessing, 
unless it be sanctified, and that the latter is the greatest we 
can receive, when we are enabled to make a proper use of 
it." 

" The melancholy that I have mentioned to you, and con- 
cerning which you are so kind as to inquire, is of a kind, so 
far as I know, peculiar to myself. It does not at all affect 
the operations of my mind, on any subject to which I can at- 
tach it, whether serious or ludicrous, or whatever it may be, 
for which reason I am almost always employed either in read- 
ing or writing, when I ran not engaged in conversation. A 
vacant hour is my abhorrence ; because, when I am not oc- 
cupied, I suffer under the whole influence of my unhappy 
temperament. I thank you for your recommendation of a me- 
dicine from which you have derived benefit yourself; but there 
is hardly anything that I have not proved, however beneficial 
it may have been found to others, in my own case, utterly 
useless. I have, therefore, long since bid adieu to all hope 
from human means — the means excepted of perpetual em- 
ployment. I will not say that we shall never meet, because 
it is not for a creature, who knows not what will be to-mor- 
row, to assert anything positively concerning the future. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 159 

Things more unlikel)'- I have seen come to pass; and things 
which, if I had expressed myself on them at all, I should 
have said were impossible. But, being respectively circum- 
stanced as we are, there seems no present probability of it. 
You speak of insuperable hinderances, and I also have hin- 
derances that would be equally difficult to surmount. One is, 
that I never ride ; that I am not able to perform so long a 
journej' on foot ; and that chaises do not roll within the sphere 
.of that economy which my circumstances oblige me to ob- 
serve. If this were not of itself a sufficient excuse, when I 
decline so obliging an invitation as yours, I could mention 
yet other obstacles. But to what end? One impracticability 
makes as elTectual a barrier as a thousand : it will be other- 
wise in other worlds : either we shall not bear about us a 
body, or it will be more easily transportable than this. The 
world in which we live is indeed, as you saj, a foolish world, 
and is likely to continue such, till the Great Teacher himself 
shall vouchsafe to make it wiser. I am persuaded that time 
alone will never mend it. But there is doubtless a day ap- 
pointed when there will be a more general manifestation of 
the beauty of holiness, than mankind have ever yet beheld. 
When that period shall arrive, there will be an end of prophane 
representations, whether of heaven or hell, on the stage, of 
which j^ou complain — the great realities of religion will su- 
persede them." 

" You must think me a tardy correspondent, unless you 
have charity enough to suppose that I have met with other 
hinderances than those of indolence and inattention. With 
these I cannot charge myself, for I am never idle by choice ; 
and inattentive to you I certainly have not been. M}'' silence 
has been occasioned by a malady to which I have all my life 
been subject — an inflammation of the eyes. The last sud- 
den change of weather, from excessive heat to a wintry de- 
gree of cold, occasioned it, and at the same time gave me a 
pinch of the rheumatic kind, from both which disorders I have 
but just recovered. I do not suppose that our climate has 
been much altered since the days of our forefathers, the 
Picts ; but certainly the human constitution, in this country, 
has altered very much. Inured as we are from our cradles to 
every vicissitude, in a climate more various than any other, 
and in possession of all that modern refinement has been 
able to contrive for our security, we are yet as subject to 
blights as the tenderest blossoms of spring; and we are so 
well admonished of every change in the atmosphere by our 
bodily feelings, as hardly to have any need of a weather- 



160 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

glass to mark them. For this we are, no doubt, indebted to 
the multitude of our accommodations; for it was not possi- 
ble to retain the hardiness that originally belonged to our 
race, under the delicate management of which, for many ages, 
we have been accustomed. It is observable, however, that 
though we have by these means lost much of our pristine vi- 
gour, our days are not the fewer. We live as long as those 
whom, on account of the sturdiness of their frame, the poets 
supposed to have been the progeny of oaks. Perhaps, too, 
they had but little feeling, and for that reason might be ima-- 
gined to be so descended ; for a very robust, athletic habit, 
seems inconsistent with much sensibility. But sensibility is 
the sine qua no7i of real happiness. If, therefore, our lives 
have been shortened, and if our feelings have been rendered 
more exquisite, as our habit of body has become more deli- 
cate, on the whole we have no cause to complain, but are ra- 
ther gainers by our degeneracy." 

In the beginning of June, 1788, an event occurred, which, 
though it had been long expected by Cowper and by all his 
friends, could not fail to make a deep impression upon his 
peculiarly sensitive mind. This was the death of his es- 
teemed and venerable relation Ashly Cowper, Esq., Clerk of 
the Parliaments, and brother to Cowper's father, the last mo- 
ments of whose life his daughter. Lady Hesketh, had watched 
over with the tenderest solicitude. In reply to an affection- 
ate letter from his friend Mr. Hill, apprizinghim of the event, 
he thus writes : — " Your letter brought me the first intelli- 
gence of the event it mentions. My last from Lady Hes- 
keth gave me reason enough to expect it; but the certainty 
of it was unknown to me till I learned it by your information. 
If gradual decline, the consequence of great age, be a suffi- 
cient preparation of the mind to encounter such a loss, our 
minds were certainly prepared to meet it : yet to you I need 
not say that no preparation can supersede the feelings of the 
heart on such occasions. While our friends yet live, inhabi- 
tants of the same world with ourselves, they seem still to 
live to us — we are sure that they often think of us,- and, how- 
ever improbable it may seem, it is never impossible that we 
may see each other once again. But the grave, like a great 
gulph, swallows all such expectations, and in the moment 
when a beloved friend sinks into it, a thousand tender recol- 
lections awaken a regret that will be felt in spite of all rea- 
sonings, and let our warnings have been what they may. My 
dear uncle's death awakened in me many reflections, which, 
for a time, sunk my spirits. A man like him would have been 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 161 

mourned had he doubled the age he reached. At any age his 
death would have been felt as a loss that no survivor could 
repair. And though it was not probable that, for my own 
part, I should ever see him more, yet the consciousness that 
he still lived, was a comfort to me. Let it comfort us now, 
that we have lost him only at a time when nature could af- 
ford him to us no longer ; that as his life was blameless, so 
was his death without anguish, and that he is gone to hea- 
ven. I know not that human life, in its most prosperous 
State, can present anything to our wishes half so desirable as 
such a close of it." 

In another letter, he again writes ; — " We have indeed lost 
one who has not left his like in the present generation of our 
family; and whose equal, in all respects, no future genera- 
tion of it will probably produce. I often think what a joyful 
interview there has been between him and some of his friends 
who went before him. The truth of the matter is, my dear, 
they are happy ones, and we shall never be entirely so our- 
selves till we have joined the party. Can there be anything 
so worthy of our warmest wishes as to enter on an eternal, 
unchangeable state, in blessed fellowship and communion 
with those whose society we valued most, and for the best 
reasons, while they continued with us T A few steps more 
through a vain, foolish world, and this happiness will be 
yours. But I earnestly hope the end of thy journey is not 
near. For of all that live, thou art one whom I can least 
spare ; for thou also art one who shall not leave thy equal 
behind thee." 

The state of Cowper's mind at this period will be disco- 
vered by the following extract from a letter to his friend Mr. 
Bull, who appears to have solicited him for some original 
hymns, to be used by him probably on some public occasion. 
" Ask possibilities, and they shall be performed ; but ask not 
hymns from a man suffering with despair as I do. I would 
not sing the Lord's song were it to save my life, banished as 
I am, not to a strange land, but to a remoteness from his pre- 
sence, in comparison to which the distance from east to west 
is no distance — is vicinity and cohesion. I dare not, either 
in prose or verse, allow myself to express a frame of mind 
which I am conscious does not belong to me ; least of all can 
I venture to use the language of absolute resignation, 
lest, only counterfeiting, I should, for that very reason, 
betaken strictly at my word, and lose all my remainingcom- 
fort. Can there not be found, among the translations of Ma- 
dame Guion, somewhat that might serve the purpose? I 
U* 



162 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

should think there might. Submission to the will of Christ, 
my memory tells me, is a theme that pervades them all. If 
so, your request is performed already ; and if any alteration 
in them should be necessary, I will, with all my heart, make 
it. I have no objection to giving the graces of a foreigner an 
English dress, but insuperable ones to all false pretences and 
affected exhibitions of what I do not feel." 

Several of Cowper's correspondents, at this time, again 
strongly urged him to write a poem on the Slave Trade. 
The following extracts will show that he was unwilling to 
give a refusal, though he could by no means prevail upon 
himself to accede to their wishes. "Twice or thrice, before 
your request came, have T been solicited to write a poem on 
the cruel, odious, and disgusting subject of Negro Slavery. 
But besides that it would be in some sort treason against Ho- 
mer to abandon him for any other matter, I felt myself so 
much hurt in my spirits the moment I entered on the contem- 
plation of it, that I have at last determined, absolutely, to 
have nothing more to do with it. There are some scenes of 
horror on which my imagination has dwelt not without some 
complacency; but then they are such scenes as God, not 
man, produces. In earthquakes, high winds, tempestuous 
seas, there is a grand as well as a terrible. But when man 
is tempted to disturb, there is such meanness in the design, 
and such cruelty in the execution, that I both hate and despise 
tlie whole operation, and feel it a degradation of poetry to 
employ her in the description of it. I hope, also, that the 
trenerality of my countrymen have more generosity in their 
nature than to want the fiddle of verse to go before them in 
the performance of an act to which they are invited by the 
loudest calls of humanity. I shall rejoice if your friend, in- 
fluenced by what you told him of my present engagements 
shall waive his application to me for a poem on this revolting 
subject. I account myself honoured by his intention to so- 
licit one, and it would give me pain to refuse him, which in- 
evitably I shall be constrained to do. The more I have con- 
sidered it, the more I have convinced myself that it is not a 
promising theme for verse, at least to me. General censure 
on the iniquity of the practice will avail nothing. The world 
has been overwhelmed with such remarks already, and to 
particularize all the horrors of it, were an employment for 
the mind, both of the poet and of his readers, of which they 
would necessarily soon grow weary. For my own part, I 
cannot contemplate the subject very nearly, without a degree 
of abhorrence that affects my spirits, and sinks them below 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 163 

the pitch requisite for success in verse. Lady Hesketh re- 
commended it to me some months since, and then I declined 
it for those reasons, and for others which I need not now men- 
tion." 

The close attention that Cowper found it necessary to pay 
to his Homer, left him, at this period, but little time for any 
other engagement. Adverting to this, he thus writes to Mr. 
Newton : — " It is a comfort to me that you are so kind as to 
make allowance for me, in consequence of my being so busy 
a man. The truth is, that could I write with both liands, 
and with both at the same time, — verse with one, and prose 
with the other, — 1 should not, even so, be able to despatch 
both my poety and my arrears of correspondence faster than 
I have need. The only opportunities that I can find for con- 
versing with distant friends are in the early hour, (and that 
sometimes reduced to half a one,) before breakfast. Neither 
am I exempt from hinderances, which, while they last, are in- 
surmountable, especially one, by which I have been occasion- 
ally a sufferer all my life — an inflammation of the eyes ; 
which has often disabled me from all sorts of scribbling. 
When I tell you that an unanswered letter troubles my con- 
science, in some degree, like a crime, you will think me en- 
dued with a most heroic patience, who have so long submit- 
ted to that trouble on account of yours, not answered yet. 
But the truth is, that I have been much engaged. Homer, 
you know, affords me constant employment, besides which I 
have rather, what may be called, — considering the privacy in 
which I have long lived, — a numerous correspondence : to 
one of my friends in particular, a near and much beloved re- 
lation, I write weekly, and sometimes twice in the week ; nor 
are these my only excuses ; the sudden changes of the wea- 
ther have much affected me, and have often made me wholly 
incapable of writing." 

The summer of 1788 was remarkably hot and dry, and to 
show the manner in which it affected Cowper's mind we 
give the following extract from a letter to one of his corre- 
spondents : — " It has pleased God to give us rain, without 
which, this part of the country at least, must soon have be- 
come a desert. The goodness and power of God are never, 
(I believe,) so universally acknowledged as at the end of a 
long drought. Man is naturally a self-sufficient animal, and 
in all concerns that seem to be within the sphere of his oAvn 
ability, thinks little, or not at all, of the need he always has 
of protection and furtherance from above. But he is sensible 
that the clouds will not assemble at his bidding, and that 



164 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

though they do assemble, they will not fall in showers, be- 
cause he commands them. When, therefore, at last the bless- 
ing descends, you shall hear, even in the streets, the most ir- 
religious and thoughtless with one voice exclaim, — Thank 
God ! Confessing themselves in^-bted to his poveer, and 
willing, at least as far as words go, to give Him the glory. 
I can hardly doubt, therefore, that the earth is sometimes 
parched, and the crops endangered, in order that the multi- 
tude may not want a memento to whom they owe them ; nor 
absolutely forget the power on which we all depend for all 
things. Tlie summer is leaving us at a rapid rate, as indeed 
do all the seasons, and though I have marked their flight 
often, I know not which is the swiftest. Man is never so de- 
luded as when he dreams of his own duration. The answer 
of the old patriarch to Pharaoh may be adopted by every 
man at the close of the longest life. — ' Few and evil have 
been the days of the years of my pilgrimage.' Whether we 
look back from fifty, or from twice fifty, the past appears 
equally a dream ; and we can only be said truly to have lived, 
while we have been profitably employed. Alas, then! mak- 
ing the necessary deductions, how short is life ! Were men 
in general to save themselves all the steps they take to no 
purpose, or to a bad one, what numbers, who are now active 
and thoughtless, would become sedentary and serious." 

In the latter part of July, 1788, Mr. and Mrs. Newton paid 
Cowper a visit at Weston ; and tlie pleasure it afforded him, 
will, with the state of his mind on the occasion, be seen by 
the following extract from a letter addressed to Mr. Newton, 
after his return. — " I rejoice that you and yours reached Lon- 
don safe, especially when I reflect that you performed your 
journey on a day so fatal, as I understand, to others travel- 
ling the same road. I found those comforts in your visit 
which have formerly sweetened all our interviews, in part re- 
stored. I knew you, knew you for the same shepherd who 
was sent to lead me out of the wilderness into the pasture, 
where the Chief Shepherd feeds his flock, and felt my senti- 
ments of affectionate friendship for you the same as ever. 
But one thing was still wanting, and that thing the crown of 
all. I shall find it in God's time if it be not lost for ever. 
When I say this, I say it trembling : for at what time soever 
comfort may come, it will not come without its attendant 
evil : and whatever good things may occur in the interval, I 
have sad forebodings of the event, having learned by experi- 
ence that I was born to be persecuted with peculiar fury, and 
assured by believing, that such as my lot has been, it will be 



I 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 165 

to the end. This belief is connected in my mind with an ob- 
servation 1 have often made, and is, perhaps, founded in great 
part upon it, — that there is a certain style of dispensations 
maintained by Providence, in the dealings of God with every 
man, which, however the incidents of his life may vary, and 
though he may be thrown into different situations, is never 
exchanged for another. The style of dispensation peculiar 
to myself has hitherto been that of sudden, violent, unlooked- 
for change. When I have thought myself falling into the 
abyss, I have been caught up again ; when I have thought 
myself on the threshold of a happy eternity, I have been 
thrust down to hell. The rough and the smooth of such a 
lot, taken together, should perhaps, have taught me never to 
despair; but through an unhappy propensity in my nature to 
forbode the worst, they have, on the contrary, operated as an 
admonition to me, never to hope. A firm persuasion that I 
can never durably enjoy a comfortable state of mind, but must 
be depressed in proportion as I have been elevated, withers 
my joys in the bud, and, in a manner, entombs them before 
they are born : for I have no expectation but of sad vi- 
cissitude, and ever believe that the last shock of all will be 
fatal." 

It might be supposed, from the gloomy state of Cowper's 
mind, as described by his letters, that no person could feel 
any real enjoyment in his society, and that his friends who 
visited him, did so, not so much for their own sake as for his. 
The fact, however, was, that all who had once been favour- 
ed with his company, were particularly anxious to enjoy it 
again ; for though he was never what might be termed bril- 
liant in conversation, yet he was always interesting ; and his 
amiable, polite, and unaffected manners, associated with his 
rich intellectual acquirements, which he had the happy ta- 
lent of displaying, in a manner perfectly unobtrusive, made 
him the charm of the social circle. His anxiety to promote 
the happiness of those with whom he might happen to be as- 
sociated, gave to his conversation an air of cheerfulness, and 
sometimes even of sprightliness and vivacity, altogether dif- 
ferent to that which generally pervaded his correspondence : 
and the same amiable solicitude for the welfare of others, 
caused him sometimes to write to his correspondents, in a 
style the most playful and agreeable. Of this we have an 
instance, in a letter to Mrs. King, written about this time.-*- 
" You express some degree of wonder that I found you out 
to be sedentary, at least, much a stayer within doors, without 
any sufficient data for my direction, Now, if I should guess 



166 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

your figure and stature with equal success, you will deem me 
not only a poet, but a conjuror. Yet, in fact, I have no pre- |^ 
tensions of that sort. I have only formed a picture of you in || 
my own imagination, as we ever do of a person of whom we ~ 
think much, but whom we have never seen. Your height, I 
conceive, to be about five feet five inches, which, though it /, 
would make a short man, is yet height enough for a woman. ■ 
If you insist on an inch or two more, I have no objection. * 
You are not very fat, but somewhat inclined to be so, and un- 
less you allow yourself a little more air and exercise, will 
incur some' danger of exceeding your present dimensions be- 
fore you die. Let me, therefore, once more recommend to 
you, to walk a little more, at least in your garden, and to 
amuse yourself with pulling up here and there a weed, for it 
will be an inconvenience to you to be much fatter than you 
are, especially when your strength will be naturally on the 
decline. I have given you a fair complexion, a slight tinge 
of the rose on your cheeks, dark brown hair, and, if the 
fashion would give you leave to show it, an open and well- 
formed forehead. To all this I add a pair of eyes not quite 
black, but approaching nearly to that hue, and very ani- 
mated. I have not absolutely determined on the shape of 
your nose, or the form of your mouth, but should you tell me 
that I have in other respects drawn a tolerable likeness, have 
no doubt but I can describe them too. I assure you that 
though I have a great desire to read Lavater, I have never 
seen his volumes, nor have I availed myself in the least of 
any of his rules on this occasion. Ah, Madam ! if with all 
this sensibility of yours, which exposes you to so much sor- 
row, and necessarily must expose you to it in a world like 
this, I have had the good fortune to make you smile, I have 
then painted you, whether with a strong resemblance, or with 
none at all, to very good purpose." 

During the time that Mr. and Mrs. Newton were on their 
visit at Weston, Cowper's friend, Mr. Samuel Rose, arrived 
there also. Cowper was highly pleased with this circum- 
stance, as it served to enliven his social circle, and afforded 
him an opportunity to introduce his young friend to Mr. 
Newton, whose advice and influence, might probably be of 
considerable advantage to him at a future period. To a per- 
son, easily diverted from his purpose, the company of friends 
whom he so highly esteemed, would have been thought a 
sufficient excuse for the suspension of every literary engage., 
ment, Cowper, however, laboured indefatigably at his trans^ 
Istion, and instead of laying it aside because of his friend's 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1 67 

visits, he gladly availed himself of their advice and assist- 
ance. We learn from the following remarks, extracted from 
a letter to his cousin, vi-ritten about this time, that Cowper 
would not allow his friend Rose to pay him an idle visit; — 
" My dear cousin, the Newtons are still here, and will con- 
tinue with us, I believe, till the 15th of the month. Here is 
also my friend, Mr. Rose, a valuable young man, who attract- 
ed by the effluvia of my genius, found me out in my retire- 
ment last January twelvemonth. I have not permitted him 
to be idle, but have made him transcribe for rae the twelfth 
book of the Iliad. He brings me the compliments of several 
of the literati, with whom he is acquainted in town ; and tells 
me that from Dr. Maclain, whom he saw lately, he learns 
that my book is in the hands of sixty different persons at the 
Hague, who are all enchanted with it; not forgetting the 
said Dr. Maclain himself, who tells him that he reads it 
every day, and is always the better for it. I desire to be 
thankful for this encouraging information, and am willing 
to ascribe it to its only legimate cause, the blessing of God 
upon my feeble eiforts." 

Shortly after Mr. Rose, and Mr. and Mrs. Newton, left 
Weston, the vacuum which the absence of their agreeable 
company made in Cowper's enjoyments, was supplied by the 
arrival of his cousin. Lady Hesketh, whose cheerful conver- 
sation contributed greatly to his comfort, and who diminish- 
ed much of the labour of his translation by transcribing the 
manuscript, so that a fair copy might be forwarded to the 
printer's. In September, 1788, he finished the Iliad, and 
thus describes his feelings on the occasion, in a letter to his 
friend, Mr. Rose : — " The day on which you shall receive 
this, I beg you will remember to drink one glass at least, to 
the success of the Iliad, which I finished the day before yes- 
terday, and yesterday began the Odyssey. It will be some 
time before I shall perceive myself travelling in another 
road ; the objects around me are at present so much the 
same, Olympus and a council of gods meet me at my first 
entrance. To tell you the truth, I am weary of heroes and dei- 
ties, and, with reverence be it spoken, shall be glad for 
variety's sake to change their company for that of a Cy- 
clops." 

Cowper's time was now so much employed, in his trans- 
lation, that he had but little opportunity for keeping up his 
correspondence, and the letters he wrote at this period, 
abound with apologies for his apparent neglect. He still, 
however, found time to advert to passing events, sufficiently 



168 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

to prove that the best of his mind remained decidedly serious. 
To Mrs. King he thus writes : — " Mrs. Battison, your late 
relative at Bedford, being dead, I was afraid you would have 
no more calls there ; but the marriage so near at hand, of the 
young lady you mention, with a gentleman of that place, 
gives me hope again, that you may occasionally approach us, 
as heretofore ; and that on some of those occasions you will 
perhaps find your way to Weston. The deaths of some and 
the marriages of others, make a new world of it every thirty 
j'ears. Within that space of time, the majority are displaced 
and a new generation has succeeded. Here and there one is 
permitted to stay a little longer, that there may not be want- 
ing a few grave dons like myself, to make the observation. 
The thought struck me very forcibly the other day, on read- 
ing a paper which came hither in the package of some books 
from London. It contained news from Hertfordshire, and 
informed me, among other things, that at Great Berkham- 
stead, the place of my birth, there is hardly a family left of 
all those with whom, in my early days, I was so familiar. 
The houses, no doubt remain, but the greater part of their 
former inhabitants are now to be found by their gravestones. 
And it is certain that I might pass through a town in which 
I was once a sort of principal figure, unknowing and un- 
known. They are happy who have not taken up their rest 
in a world fluctuating as the sea, and passing away with the 
rapidity of a river. I wish from my heart, that you and Mr. 
King, may long continue, as you have already long con- 
tinued, exceptions from the general truth of this remark." 

Lady Heskelh remained at Weston through the greater 
part of the winter of 1788-9, and contributed much to revive 
Cowper's drooping spirits, and to cheer and animate him in 
his important undertaking; which seemed to engage more of 
his time the nearer it approached to a finish. The close 
attention which he found it indispensably necessary to 
bestow upon it, compelled him almost entirely to relinquish 
his correspondence. And, as a letter from him was esteem- 
ed a treasure by all his friends, many of whom began to 
make complaints of being neglected, he was often compel- 
led, in those he did write, to advert to these complaints. 
We find him thus excusing himself for his apparent neglect : 
— " The post brings me no letters that do not grumble at my 
silence. Had not you, therefore, taken me to task as roundly 
as others, I should perhaps, have concluded that you were 
more indifferent to my epistles than the rest of my corres- 
pondents ; of whom one says : ' I shall be glad when you 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 169 

have finished Homer; then possibly you will find a little 
leisure for an old friend.' Another says, ' I don't choose to 
be neglected, unless you equally neglect every one else.' 
Thus I hear of it with both ears, and shall, till I appear in 
the shape of two great quarto volumes, the composition of 
which, I confess engrosses me to a degree that gives my 
friends, to whom I feel myself much obliged for their anxiety 
to hear from me, but too much reason to complain. Johnson 
told Mr. Martyn the truth, when he said I had nearly com- 
pleted Homer, but your inference from that truth is not 
altogether so just as most of your conclusions are. Instead 
of finding myself the more at leisure, because my long labour 
draws to a close, I find myself the more occupied. As when 
a horse approaches the goal, he does not, unless he be jaded, 
slacken his pace, but quickens it : even so it fares with me. 
The end is in view ; I seem almost to have reached the 
mark, and the nearness of it inspires me with fresh alacrity. 
But be it known to you that I have still two books of the 
Odyssey before me, and when they are finished, shall have 
almost the whole eight-and-forty to revise. Judge then, my 
dear Madam, if it is yet time for me to play or to gratify my- 
self with scribbling to those I love. No, it is necessary that 
waking I should be all absorpt in Homer, and that sleeping 
I should dream of nothing else." 

Busily engaged, however, as Cowper was with his trans- 
lation, he found time to compose several short, but beautiful 
poems, on various subjects, as they happened to occur to his 
mind. These were eagerly sought after by his correspond- 
ents, and were forwarded to them respectively, as opportuni- 
ties offered, accompanied generally with the poet's acknow- 
ledgements of their comparative insignificance, at least in his 
own esteem. Several of these productions were written to 
oblige his friends, for whom Cowper always had the highest 
regard, and whom he felt pleased on all occasions to accom- 
modate ; others were written at the request of strangers, 
whom he was not unwilling, when it lay fairly in his way, to 
oblige. On one occasion, the parish clerk of Northampton, 
applied to him for some verses, to be annexed to some bills 
of mortality, which he was accustomed to publish at Christ- 
mas. This singular incident, so illustrative of Cowper's 
real generosity, he relates in the following most interestinor 
and sprightly manner : — " On Monday morning last, Sam 
brought me word that there was a man in the kitchen, who 
desired to speak with me. I ordered him in. A plain, de- 
cent, elderly-looking figure, made its appearance, and beino- 
15 " 



170 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

desired to sit, spoke as follows : ' Sir, I am clerk of the parish 
of All Saints, in Northampton; brother of Mr. C. the uphol- 
sterer. It is customary for the person in my office to annex 
to a bill of mortality, which he publishes at Christmas, a 
copy of verses. You would do me a great favour, Sir, if you 
would furnish me with one.' To this I replied ; Mr. C. you 
have several men of genius in your town, why have you not 
applied to some of them 1 There is a namesake of yours in 
particular, Mr. C. the statuary, who everybody knows is a 
first-rate maker of verses. He surely is the man, of all the 
world, for your purpose. ' Alas ! Sir,' replied he, ' I have 
heretofore borrowed help from him, but he is a gentleman of 
so much reading, that the people of our town cannot under- 
stand him.' I confess I felt all the force of the compliment 
implied in this speech, and was almost ready to answer, per- 
haps, my good friend, they may find me unintelligible for the 
same reason. But on asking him whether he had walked over 
to Weston on purpose to implore the assistance of my muse, 
and on his replying in the affirmative, I felt my mortified 
vanity a little consoled, and pitying the poor man's distress, 
which appeared to be considerable, promised to supply him. 
The wagon has accordingly gone this day to Northampton, 
loaded in part with my effusions in the mortuary style. A 
fig for poets who write epitaphs upon individuals, I have 
written one that serves two hundred persons." 

On another occasion, Cowper thus writes to Mr. Hill, ad- 
verting to the numerous entreaties he sometimes received for 
the assistance of his muse. "My muse were a vixen, if she 
were not always ready to fly in obedience to your commands. 
But what can be done? I can write nothing in the few hours 
that remain to me of this day, that will be fit for your pur- 
pose ; and, unless I could despatch what I write by to-mor- 
row's post, it would not reach you in time. I must add, too, 
that my friend the vicar of the next parish, engaged me the 
day before yesterday, to furnish him by next Sunday with a 
hymn to be sung on the occasion of his preaching to the chil- 
dren of the Sunday-school ; of which hymn I have not yet 
produced a syllable. I am somewhat in the case of Lawyer 
Dowling, in Tom Jones ; and could I split myself into as 
many poets as there are muses, I could find employment for 
them all." 

These numerous engagements, however, did not prevent 
the poet from recording his sentiments respecting any cir- 
cumstance that occurred which he thought deserving notice. 
About this time the following melancholy event happened, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 171 

which drew from him lines expressive of his entire abhor- 
rence of cruelty, by whomsoever perpetrated, and whether 
practised upon man or upon the lower order of animals. John 

A , Esq., a young gentleman of large fortune, who was 

passionately fond of cock-fighting, came to his death in the 
following awful manner. He had a favourite cock, upon 
which he had won many large sums. The last bet he 
laid upon it he lost, which so enraged him, that he had the 
bird tied to a spit, and roasted alive, before a large fire. The 
screams of the suffering animal were so affecting, that some 
gentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so 

exasperated Mr. A , that he seized the poker, and with 

the most furious vehemence declared that he would kill the 
first man who interfered ; but in the midst of his passion- 
ate assertions, awful to relate, he fell down dead upon the 
spot. Cowper was so deeply affected by the circumstance, 
that he composed a poetic obituary on the occasion, which 
was inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine for May, 1789, 
from which we extract the following lines. 

" This man (for since the howling wild 
Disclaims him, man he must be styled) 

Wanted no good below : 
Gentle he was, if g-entle bh'th 
Could make him such, and he had worth, 
If wealth can worth bestow. 

Can such be cruel' such can be 
Cruel as hell, and so was he ; 

A tyrant entertain'd 
With barb'rous sports, whose fell delight 
Was to encourage mortal fight, 

'Twixt birds to battle trained. 

One feathered champion he possessed, 
His darling far beyond tlie rest, 

Which never knew disgrace, 
Nor e'er had fought, but lie made flow 
The life-blood of his fiercest foe — 

The Caesar of his race. 

It chanced, at last, when, on a day, 
He pushed him to the desp'rate fray, 

flis courage droop'd, he flied ; 



172 THE LIFE or WILLIAM COWPER. 

The master stormed, the prize was lost. 
And, instant, frantic at the cost, 

He doom'd his favourite dead. 

He seized him fast, and from the pit 
Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit, 

And, Bring me cord, he cried ; 
The cord was brought, and at his word. 
To that dire implement, the bird. 

Alive, and struggling, tied. 

The horrid sequel asks a veil, 
And all the terrors of tjie tale 

That can be, shall be sunk ; 
Led by the sufferer's screams aright. 
His shock'd companions view the sight. 

And him with pity, drunk. 

All, suppliant, beg a milder fate. 
For the old wanior at the grate : 

He, deaf to pity's call, 
Whirl'd round him, rapid as a wheel. 
His culinary club of steel. 

Death menacing on all. 

But vengeance hung not far remote. 

For while he stretched his clamorous throat. 

And heaven and earth defied ; 
Big with a curse too closely pent. 
That struggled vainly for a vent. 

He totter'd, reel'd, and died. 

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise. 
To point the judgment of the skies ; 

But judgments plain as this. 
That, sent for men's instruction, bring 
A written label on their wing, 

'Tis hard to read amiss." 

It was Cowper's intention, after finishing his translation, 
to publish a third volume of original poems, which was to 
contain, in addition to a poem he intended to compose, simi- 
lar to the Task, entitled " The Four Ages," all the minor 
unpublished productions of his pen. And it is deeply to be 
regretted that he was not permitted to carry this design into 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 173 

completion, as the interesting subject of the different stages 
of man's existence would have been admirably adapted for.a 
complete developement of his poetic talents. 

The readiness of Cowper to listen to any alterations in his 
productions, suggested by his correspondents, ought not to go 
unrecorded. To the Rev. Walter Bagot he thus writes. 
" My verses on the Queen's visit to London, either have been 
printed, or soon will be in the world. The finishing to which 
you objected I have altered, and have substituted two new 
stanzas in the room of it. Two others also I have struck out, 
another friend having objected to them. I think I am a very 
tractable sort of a poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon 
shorten the noses of their children because they were said to 
be too long, as thus dock their compositions, in compliance 
with the opinions of others. I beg that when my life shall 
be written hereafter, my authorship's ductibility of temper 
may not be forgotten." 



15* 



( 174 ) 



CHAPTER XIV. 



Mrs. Unwin much injured by a fall — Cowper's anxiety respect- 
ing her — Continues incessantly engaged in his Homer — Ex- 
. presses regret that it should, in some measure, have suspended 
his correspondence with his friends — Revises a small volume of 
poems for children — State of his mind — Receives, as a present 
from Mrs. Rodham, a portrait of his mother — Feelings on the 
occasion — Interesting description of her character — His affec- 
tionate attachment to her — Translates a series of Latin letters 
from a Dutch minister of the Gospel — Continuance of his de- 
pression — Is attacked with a nervous fever — Completion of his 
translation — Death of Mrs. Newton — His reflections on the oc- 
casion — Again revises his Homer— His unalterable attachment 
to religion. 

In the commencement of 1789, a circumstance occurred, 
which occasioned Cowper considerable uneasiness. Mrs. Un- 
win, his amiable inmate, and faithful companion, received so 
severe an injury by a fall, which she got when walking on a 
gravel path, covered with ice, that she was confined to her 
room for several weeks. Though she neither dislocated any 
joint, nor broke any bones, yet such was the effect of the fall, 
that it crippled her completely, and rendered her as incapable 
of assisting herself as a child. It happened providentially, 
that Lady Hesketh was at Weston, when this painful event 
occurred. By her kind attention to Mrs. Unwin, and her no 
less tender care over her esteemed relative, lest his mind 
should be too deeply affected by this afflicting occurrence, 
she contujbuted greatly to the recovery of the former, and to 
the support of the latter. It was, however, several weeks be- 
fore Mrs. Unwin recovered her strength sufficiently to attend 
to her domestic concerns. Her progress too, when she be- 
gan to amend, was so slow, as to be almost imperceptible, 
and her lengthened affliction, notwithstanding the precautioi>- 
ary measures adopted by herself, and by Lady Hesketh to 
prevent it, tended, in a great degree, to depress the mind of 
Cowper. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 175 

Early in the ensuing spring, Lady Hesketh was compelled 
to return to town. Mrs. Unwin had not then wholly reco- 
vered her strength ; she was, however, so far convalescent, as 
to resume the management of her domestic concerns, and to 
pay the same kind attention to the poet's comfort as had dis- 
tinguished all her former conduct towards him. The greater 
part of the year 1789, Cowper was incessantly engaged, 
principally in translating Homer ; but occasionally, and in- 
deed frequently, in composing original poems for the gratifi- 
cation of his friends, or in the more difficult employment of 
revising the productions of less gifted poets. The few letters 
he wrote at this time abound with apologies for his seeming 
negligence, and with descriptions of the manner in which he 
employed his time. To one of his correspondents he thus 
writes : " I know that you are too reasonable a man to expect 
anything like punctuality of correspondence from a trans- 
lator of Homer, especially from one who is a doer also of 
many other things at the same time ; for I labour hard, not 
only to acquire a little fame for myself, but to win it for 
others, men of whom I know nothing, not even their names, 
who send me their poetry, that by translating it out of prose 
into verse, I may make it more like poetry than it was. I 
begin to perceive that if a man will be an author, he must 
live neither to himself nor to his friends so much as to others 
whom he never saw nor shall see. I feel myself in no small 
degree unworthy of the kind solicitude which you express 
concerning me and my welfare, after a silence so much longer 
than you had reason to expect. I should indeed account my- 
self inexcusable, had I not to allege in my defence, perpetual 
engagements of such a kind as could by no means be dis- 
pensed with. Had Homer alone been in question. Homer 
should have made room for you ; but I have had other work 
in hand at the same time, equally pressing and more labori- 
ous. Let it suffice to say, that I have not wilfully neglected 
you for a moment, and that you have never been out of my 
thoughts a day together. Having heard all this, you will 
feel yourself disposed not only to pardon my long silence, 
but to pity me for the causes of it. You may, if you please, 
believe likewise, for it is true, that I have a faculty of re- 
membering my friends even when I do not write to them, 
and of loving them not one jot the less, though I leave them 
to starve for want of a letter from me." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 16th August, 1789, Cowper 
thus describes the situation in which he was then placed, 
and the state of his mind at the time : '* Mrs. Newton and 



176 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

you are both kind and just in believing that I do not love 
you the less when I am long- silent ; perhaps a friend of mine 
who wishes to be always in my thoughts, is never so effec- 
tually possessed of the accomplishment of that wish, as when I 
have been long his debtor ; for then I think of him, not only 
every day, but day and night ; and indeed all day long. But 
I confess at the same time that my thoughts of you will be 
more pleasant to myself, when I shall have exonerated my 
conscience by giving j'ou the letter, so long your due. There- 
fore, here it comes, — little worth your having, but paj^ment 
such as it is, that you have a right to expect, and that is 
essential to my own tranquillity. That the Iliad and the 
Odyssey should have proved the occasion of my suspending 
my correspondence with you, is a proof how little we see 
the consequences of what we publish. ■ Homer, 1 dare say, 
hardly at all suspected, that at the fag end of time, two per- 
sonages would appear, one ycleped. Sir Newton, and the 
other Sir Cowper, who loving each other heartily, would 
nevertheless suffer the pains of an interrupted intercourse, — 
his poems the cause. So, however, it has happened ; and 
though it would not, I suppose, extort from the old bard a 
single sigh, if he knew it, yet to me it suggests the serious 
reflection above mentioned. An author by profession had 
need narrowly to watch his pen, lest a line should escape it, 
which by possibility may do mischief, when he has been 
long dead and buried. What we have done when we have 
written a book, will never be known till the day of judgment : 
then the account will be liquidated, and all the good that it 
has occasioned, and all the evil, will witness, either for or 
against us. I am now in the last book of the Odyssey, yet 
have still I suppose, half a year's work before me. The ac- 
curate revisal of two such voluminous poems can hardly cost 
me less. I rejoice, however, that the goal is in prospect ; 
for though it has cost me years to run this race, it is only 
now that I begin to have a glimpse of its termination. That 
I shall never receive any proportionable pecuniary recompense 
for my long labours, is pretty certain ; and as to any fame 
that I may possibly gain by it, that is a commodity that daily 
sinks in value, in measure as the consummation of all things 
approaches. In the day when the lion shall dandle the kid, 
and a little child shall lead them, the world will have lost 
all relish for the fabulous legends of antiquity, and Homer 
and his translator may budge off the stage together." 

Some months afterwards, to the same correspondent Cow- 
per thus writes : " On this fine first of December, under an 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 177 

unclouded sky, and in a room full of sunshine, I address my- 
self to the payment of a debt, long in arrear, but never for- 
gotten by me, however I may have seemed to forget it. I 
will not waste time in apologies ; I have but one, and that 
one will suggest itself unmentioned. I will only add that 
you are the first to whom I write, of several to whom I have 
not written many months, who all have claims upon me ; 
and who, I flatter myself, are all grumbling at my silence. 
In your case, perhaps I have been less anxious than in the 
case of some others ; because, if you have not heard from my- 
self, you have heard from Mrs. Unwin. From her you have 
learned that I live, that I am as well as usual, and that I 
translate Homer : three short items, but in which is comprised 
the whole detail of my present history. Thus I fared when 
you were here ; thus I have fared ever since you were here ; 
and thus, if it please God, I shall continue to fare for some 
time longer : for, though the work is done, it is not finished ; 
a riddle which you, who are a brother of the press, will solve 
easily. I have been the less anxious on your behalf, because 
I have had frequent opportunities to hear from you ; and have 
always heard that you are in good health, and happy. Of 
Mrs. Newton too, I have heard more favourable accounts of 
late, which has given us both the sincerest pleasure. Mrs. 
Unwin's case is, at present, my only subject of uneasiness, 
that is not immediately personal, and properly my own. 
She has almost constant head-aches ; almost a constant pain 
in her side, which nobody understands ; and her lameness, 
within the last half year, is very little amended. But her 
spirits are good, because supported by comforts which de- 
pend not on the state of the body ; and I do not know that 
with all her pain, her appearance is at all altered, since we 
had the happiness to see you here, unless indeed it be alter- 
ed a little for the better. I have thus given you as circum- 
stantial an account of ourselves as I could : the most inter- 
esting matter, I verily believe, with which I could have filled 
my paper, unless I could have made spiritual mercies to my- 
self the subject. In ray next perhaps I shall find tirrieto be- 
stow a few lines on what is doing in France, and in the Aus- 
trian Netherlands ; though, to say the truth, I am much better 
qualified to write an essay on the seige of Troy, than to des- 
cant on any of these modern revolutions. I question if, in 
either of the countries just mentioned, full of bustle and tu- 
mult as they are, there be a single character, whom Homer, 
were he living, would deign to make his hero. The populace 



178 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



are the heroes now, and the staff of which gentlemen heroes 
are made, seems to be all expended." 

The year 1790, found Cowper still indefatigably engaged 
in preparing his translation for the press. In a letter to Mrs. 
King, 4th January, he thus writes : " Your long silence has 
occasioned me a thousand anxious thoughts about you. So 
long it has been, that whether I now write to a Mrs. King at 
present on earth, or already in heaven, I know not. 1 have 
friends whose silence troubles me less, though I have known 
them longer ; because, if I hear not from themselves, I yet 
hear from others, that they are still living, and likely to live. 
But if your letters cease to bring me news of your welfare, 
from whom can I gain the desirable intelligence'? The birds 
of the air will not bring it, and third person there is none be- 
tween us by whom it might be conveyed. Nothing is plain 
to me in this subject, but that either you are dead, or very 
much indisposed, or which would perhaps affect me with as 
deep a concern, though of a different kind, very much offend- 
ed. The latter of those suppositions I think the least pro- 
bable, conscious as I am of an habitual desire to offend no- 
bod}^ especially a lady, and a lady too who has laid me 
under so many obligations. But all the three solutions above 
mentioned are very uncomfortable ; and if you live, and can 
send me one that will cause me less pain than either of them, 
I conjure you by the charity and benevolence which I know 
influence you on all occasions, to communicate it without de- 
lay. It is possible, notwithstanding appearances to the con- 
trary, that you are not become perfectly indifferent to me, 
and to what concerns me. I will therefore add a word or two 
on the subject which once interested you, and which is, for 
that reason, worthy to be mentioned, though truly for no 
other. I am well, and have been so (uneasiness on your part 
excepted) both in mind and body ever since I wrote to you 
last. I have still the same employment ; Homer in the morn- 
ing, and Homer in the evening, as constant as the day goes 
round. In the spring I hope to send the Iliad and the 
Odyssey to the press. So much for me and my occupations." 

It would scarcely be supposed that a person performing 
such an Herculean task as that of translating Homer, would 
have troubled himself to compose, or even to revise, a volume 
of hymns for children. The following extract, however, will 
show that, anxious as Cowper was to finish his Homer, he 
could nevertheless, allow his attention to be, in a great mea- 
sure, diverted from it, at least for a time, when he thought he 
could employ his talents usefully. " I have long been silent, 



e^l 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 179 

but you have had the charity, I hope, and believe, not to as- 
cribe my silence to a wrong cause. The truth is, I have 
been too busy to write to any body, having been obliged to 
give my early mornings to the revisal and correction of a lit- 
tle volume of hymns for children, written, by I know not 
whom; this task I finished yesterday, and while it was in 
hand, wrote only to my cousin, and to her rarely. From her, 
however, I knew that you would hear of my well being, 
'which made me less anxious about my debts to you than I 
could have been otherwise. The winter has been mild ; but 
our winters are in general such, that when a friend leaves us 
in the beginning of that season, I always feel in my heart a 
perhaps, importing tliat we may possibly have met for the 
last time, and that the robins may whistle on the grave of 
one of us before the return of summer. Though I have been 
employed as described above, I am still thrumming Homer's 
lyre ; that is to say, I am still employed in my 1^ revisal ; 
and to give you some idea of the intenseness of mj toils, I 
will inform you that it cost me all the morning yesterday, 
and all the evening, to translate a single simile to my mind. 
The transitions from one member of the subject to another, 
though easy and natural in the Greek, turn out often so into- 
lerably awkward in an English version, that almost endless 
labour, and no little address, are requisite to give them grace 
and elegance. The under parts of the poem, (those, I mean, 
which are merely narrative,) I find the most difficult. — These 
can only be supported by the diction, and on these, for that 
reason, I have bestowed the most abundant labour. Fine si- 
miles, and fine speeches, are more likely to take care of 
themselves ; but the exact process of slaying a sheep and 
dressing it, is not so easy in our language, and in our mea- 
sure to dignify. But I shall have the comfort, as I before 
said, to reflect, that whatever may be hereafter laid to my 
charge, the sin of idleness will not, — ^justly, at least it never 
will. In the mean time, I must be allowed to say, that not to 
fall short of the original in everything, is impossible. I 
thank you for your German clavis, which has been of consi- 
derable use to me ; I am indebted to it for a right understand- 
ing of the manner in which Achilles prepared pork, mutton, 
and goats' flesh, for the entertainment of his friends, on the 
night when they came deputed by Agamemnon to negotiate 
a reconciliation. A passage of which nobody in the world 
is perfectly master, myself only, and Schaulfelbergerus ex- 
cepted, nor ever was, except when Greek was a living lan- 
guage." 



180 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

About this time, Mrs. King appears to have been informed 
that it was Cowper's intention to leave Weston, and that 
Mrs. Unwin had been making inquiries after a house at Hun- 
tingdon. Adverting to this report, in a letter to that lady, 
he thus writes: — " The report that informed you of inquiries 
made by Mrs. CJnwin, after a house at Huntingdon, Avas un- 
founded. We have no thought of quitting Weston, unless 
the same Providence that led us hither should lead us away. 
It is a situation the most eligible, perfectly agreeable to us 
both, and to me in particular, who write much, and walk 
much, and, consequently, love silence and retirement. If it 
has a fault, it is, that it seems to threaten us with a certainty 
of never seeing you. But may we not hope that when a 
milder season shall have improved your health, we may yet, 
notwithstanding the distance, be favoured with Mr. King's 
and your company ? A better season will likewise improve 
the road^and exactly in proportion as it does so, will, in ef- 
fect, lessen the interval between us. I know not if Mr. Mar- 
tyn be a mathematician, but most probably he is a good one, 
and he can tell you that this is a proposition mathematically 
true, though rather paradoxical in appearance." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 5 February, 1790, Cowper again 
plaintively describes the state of his mind. — " Your kind 
letter deserved a speedier answer, but you know my excuse, 
which were I to repeat always, my letters would resemble 
the fag end of a newspaper, where we always find the price 
of stocks, detailed with little or no variation. When Janua- 
ry returns, you have your feelings concerning me, and such 
as prove the faitlifulness of your friendship. I have mine 
also concerning myself, but they are of a cast different from 
yours. Yours have a mixture of sympathy and tender soli- 
citude, which makes them, perhaps, not altogether unplea- 
sant. Mine, on the contrary, are of an unmixed nature, and 
consist simply, and merely, of the most alarming apprehen- 
sions. Twice has that month returned upon me, accompa- 
nied by such horrors, as I have no reason to suppose ever 
made part of the experience of any other man. I, according- 
ly, look forward to it, and meet it with a dread not to be ima- 
gined. I number the nights as they pass, and in the morn- 
ing bless myself that another night is gone, and no harm has 
happened. This may argue, perhaps, some imbecility of 
mind, and, indeed, no small degree of it; but it is natural, I 
believe, and so natural as to be necessary and unavoidable. 
I know that God is not governed by secondary causes, in any 
of his operations ; and that, on the contrary, they are all so 



« 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 181 

many agents, in his hand, which strike only when he bids 
them. I know, consequently, that one month is as danger- 
ous to me as another ; and that in the middle of summer, at 
noonday, and in the clear sunshine, I am, in reality, unless 
guarded by Him, as much exposed as when fast asleep at 
midnight, and mid-winter. But we are not always the Aviser 
for our knowledge, and I can no more avail myself of mine, 
in this case, than if it were in the head of any other man, 
and not in my own. I have heard of bodily aches and ails, 
that have been particularly troublesome when the season re- 
turned in which the hurt that occasioned them was received. 
The mind, I believe, (with my own, however, 1 am sure it is 
so,) is liable to similar periodical affection. But February 
is come ; January, my terror, is passed ; and some shades of 
the gloom that attended his presence have passed with him. 
I look forward with a little cheerfulness to the buds and 
the leaves that will soon appear, and say to myself, till they 
turn yellow, I will make myself easy. The year will go 
round, and January will approach. I shall tremble again, 
and I know it; but in the meantime I will be as comfortable 
as I can. Thus, with respect to peace of mind, such as it 
is, that I enjoy. I subsist, as the poor are vulgarly said to 
do, from hand to mouth; and of a Christian, such us you 
once knew me, am, by a strange transformation, become an 
epicurean philosopher, bearing this motto on my mind, — 
Quid sit futurum eras, ftige qiiaerere.''^ 

Towards the end of this month, Cowper received as a pre- 
sent, from Mrs. Bodham, a cousin of his, then residing in 
Norfolk, his mother's portrait. The following extracts will 
show the powerful impression which this circumstance made 
upon his tender mind : — " My dearest Rose,* whom I thought 
withered and fallen from the stalk, but whom I find still 
alive : nothing could give me greater pleasure than to know 
it, and to learn it from yourself. I loved you dearly when 
you were a child, and love you not a jot the less for having 
ceased to be so. Every creature that bears any affinity to 
my mother is dear to me, and you, the daughter of her bro- 
ther, are but one remove distant from her. I love you, there- 
fore, and love j'^ou much, both for her sake, and for your own. 
The world could not have furnished you with a present so 



• Mrs. Bobham's name is Anne, but Cowper always called 
her Rose, when a child, and was aware that she would remem- 
her his doing so. 

16 



182 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



^ 



acceptable to me as the picture you have so kindly sent me. 
I received it the night before last, and received it with a tre- 
pidation of nerves and spirits, somewhat akin to what I 
should have felt had the dear original presented herself to my 
embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object 
that I see at night, and, of course, the first that I open my 
eyes upon in tlie morning. She died when I had completed 
my sixth year, yet I remember her well, and am an ocular 
witness of the great fidelity of the copy. I remember too, 
a multitude of the maternal tendernesses which I received 
from her, and which have endeared her memory to me beyond 
expression. There is, I believe, in me, more of the Donne 
than of the Cowper, and though I love all of both names, 
and have a thousand reasons to love those of my own name, 
yet I feel the bond of nature draw me vehemently to your 
side. I was thought, in the days of my childhood, much to 
resemble my mother, and in my natural temper, of which, at 
the age of fifty-eight, I must be supposed a competent judge, 
can trace both her, and my late uncle, your father. Some- 
what of his irritability, and a little, I would hope, both of his, 

and of her , I know not what to call it, without seeming 

to praise myself, which is not my intention ; but speaking to 
you, I will even speak out, and say good nature. Add to all 
this, I deal much in poetry, as did our venerable ancestor, 
the Dean of St. Paul's, and I think I shall have proved my- 
self a Donne at all points. The truth is, whatever I am, and 
wherever I am, I love you all." 

To Lady Hesketh he thus adverts to the circumstance. — 
"I am delighted with Mrs. Bodham's kindness in giving me 
the only picture of my mother that is to be found, I suppose, 
in all the world. I had rather possess it than the richest 
jewel in the British crown, for I loved her with an affection, 
that her death, fifty years since, has not in the least abated. 
I remember her too, young as I was when she died, well 
enough to know that it is a very exact resemblance of her, 
and as such it is to me invaluable. Everybody loved her, 
and with an amiable character so impressed on all her fea- 
tures, everybody was sure to do so." 

To John Johnson, Esq., 28th February, 1790, he thus re- 
cords his feelings on this occasion. " I was never more pleas- 
ed in my life than to learn, and to learn from herself, that my 
dearest Rose is still alive. Had she not engaged me to love 
her by the sweetness of her character when a child, she 
would have done it eff"ectually now, by making me the most 
acceptable present in the world, my own dear mother's pic- 



\ 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 183 

ture. I am perhaps the only person living who remembers 
her, but I remember her well, and can attest on my own know- 
ledge, the truth of the resemblance. Amiable and elegant 
as the countenance is, such exactly was her own ; she was 
one of the tenderest parents, and so just a copy of her, is 
therefore to me invaluable. I wrote yesterday to my Rose, 
to tell her all this, and to thank her for her kindness in send- 
ing it I Neither do I forget your kindness, who intimated to 
her that I should be happy to possess it. She invites me 
into Norfolk, but alas ! she might as well invite the house 
in which I dwell : for, all other considerations and impedi- 
ments apart, how is it possible that a translator of Homer 
should lumber to such a distance. But though I cannot com- 
ply with her kind invitation, I have made myself the best 
amends in my power, by inviting her, and all the family of 
Donnes, to Weston," To Mrs. King, on the same interest- 
ing occasion, he writes : " I have lately received from a female 
cousin of mine in Norfolk, whom I have not seen these five- 
and-twenty years, a picture of my own mother. She died 
when I wanted two days of being six years old ; yet I re- 
member her perfectly, find the picture a strong resemblance 
of her, and because her memory has been ever precious to 
me, I have written a poem on the receipt of it ; a poem 
which, one excepted, 1 had more pleasure in writing than 
any that I ever wrote. That. one was addressed to a lady 
whom I expect in a few minutes to come down to breakfast, 
and who has supplied to me the place of my own mother — 
my own invaluable mother, these six-and-tvventy years. 
Some sons may be said to have had many fathers, but a plu- 
ralit}' of mothers is not common." 

In May of this year, 1790, Cowper thus describes the man- 
ner in which he was employed. " I am still at my old sport 
— Homer all the morning, and Homer all the evening. Thus 
have I been held in constant employment, I know not exactly 
how many, but I believe these six years, an interval of eight 
months excepted. It is now become so familiar to me to take 
Homer from my shelf at a certain hour, that I shall, no doubt, 
continue to take him from my shelf at the same time, even 
after I have ceased to want him. That period is not far dis- 
tant. I am now giving the last touches to a work, which 
had I foreseen the difficulty of it, I should never have med- 
dled with ; but which, having at length nearly finished it to 
my mind, I shall discontinue with regret." V 

Perhaps no one was ever better qualified to give sound and 
judicious advice to persons in various conditions in life than 



184 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Cowper, and no one certainly ever gave it more cheerfully, 
or in a manner more perfectly unassuming. An instance of 
this occurred in a letter which he wrote in June of this year, 
to his cousin, John Johnson, Esq., who was then pursuing 
his studies at Cambridge, who had recently been introduced 
to him, and for whom he entertained the most affectionate re- 
gard. " You never pleased me more than when you told me 
you had abandoned your mathematical pursuits. It grieved 
me to think that you were wasting your time merely to gain 
a little Cambridge fame ; not scarcely worth your having. I 
cannot be contented that j^our renown should thrive nowhere 
but on the banks of the Cam. Conceive a nobler ambition, 
and never let your honour be circumscribed by the paltry di- 
mensions of a University. It is well that you have already, 
as you observe, acquired sufficient information in that science 
to enable you to pass creditably such examinations as I sup- 
pose you must hereafter undergo. Keep what you have got- 
ten, and be content : more is needless. You could not apply 
to a worse than I am to advise you concerning your studies. 
I was never a regular student myself, but lost the most valu- 
able part of my life in an attorney's office, and in the Tem- 
ple. I will not therefore give myself airs, and affect to know 
what I know not. The affair is of great importance to you, 
and you should be directed by a wiser than I. To speak, 
however, in very general terms on the subject, it seems to 
me that your chief concern is with history, natural philoso- 
phjr, logic, and divinity; as to metaphysics, I know but little 
about them. But the very little 1 do know has not taught 
me to admire them. Life is too short to afford time even for 
serious trifles; pursue what you know to be attainable ; make 
truth your object, and your studies will make you a wise 
man." 

In the summer of 1790, much as Cowper's time was occu- 
pied in giving the finishing touch to his Homer, he neverthe- 
less, at the suggestion of some friend, undertook to translate 
a series of Latin letters, received from a Dutch minister of 
the gospel, at the Cape of Good Hope. This occupation, 
though it left him but little time for writing to his numerous 
correspondents, afforded him considerable pleasure. There 
was a congeniality in it to the prevailing disposition of his 
mind, and in a letter to Mr. Newton, w^ho requested him to 
publish these letters, he thus writes : " I have no objection 
at all to being known as the translator of Van Leer's letters, 
when they shall be published. Rather, I am ambitious of it 
as an honour. It will serve to prove that if I have spent 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 185 

much time to little purpose in the translation of Homer, 
some small portion of my time has, however, been well dis- 
posed of." 

It will have been perceived, from the extracts we have al- 
ready made, that Cowper's gloomy peculiarity of mind still 
prevailed, at least occasionally, to a painful extent. It is 
true, he adverts to it in his letters, at this time, less frequent- 
ly than formerly; he introduces it, however, sufficiently often 
to show, that it had undergone no diminution, and that it was 
suppressed only by the intense application which his engage- 
ments required. The following extracts from his letters 
written towards the close of 1790, will describe the state of 
his mind in this respect, at that period. "I have singulari- 
ties of which I believe, at present you know nothing; and 
which would fill you with wonder if you knew them. I will 
add, however, injustice to myself, that they would not lower 
me in 5''our good opinion ; though perhaps they might tempt 
you to question the soundness of my upper story. Almost 
twenty years have I been thus unhappily circumstanced; and 
the remedy is in the hands of God only. That I make you 
this partial communication on the subject, conscious at the 
same time that you are well worthy to be entrusted with the 
whole, is merely because the recital would be too long for a 
letter, and painful both to me and to you. But all this may 
vanish in a moment, and if it please God, it shall. In the 
mean time, my dear Madam, remember me in your prayers, 
and mention me at those times, as one whom it has pleased 
God to afflict with singular visitations. Twice I have been 
overwhelmed with the blackest despair; and at those times, 
everything in which I have been at any time of my life con- 
cerned, has afforded to the enemy a handle against me. I 
treml)le, therefore, almost at every step I take, lest on some 
future similar occasion, it should yield him opportunity, and 
furnish him with means to torment'me." 

On another occasion he thus writes : — " A yellow shower 
of leaves is now continually falling from all the trees in the 
country. A few moments only seem to have passed since 
they were buds ; and in a few moments more they will have 
disappeared ! It is one advantage of a rural situation, that it 
affords many hints of the rapidity with which life flies, that 
do not occur in towns and cities. It is impossible for a man, 
conversant with such scenes as surround me, no^o advert 
daily to the shortness of his existence here, adm^Pshed of 
it, as he must be, by ten thousand objects. There was a 
time when I could contemplate my present state, and consi- 
16* 



m 



186 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

der myself as a thing- of the day with pleasure ; when I num- 
bered the seasons, as they passed in swift rotation, as a 
schoolboy numbers the days that interpose between the next 
vacation, when he shall see his parents, and enjoy his home 
again. But to make so just an estimate of a life like this, is 
no longer in my power. The consideration of my short con- 
tinuance here, which was once g-rateful to me, now fills me 
wit!) regret. I would live, and live always, and am become 
such another wretch as Maecenas was, who wished for long 
life — he cared not at what expense of sufferings. The only 
consolation left me on this subject is, that the voice of the 
Almighty can, in one moment, cure me of this mental in- 
firmity. That He can, I know by experience ; and there are 
reasons for which I ought to believe that he will. But from 
hope to despair is a transition that I have made so often, that 
I can only consider the hope that may come, and that some- 
times I believe will, as a short prelude to joy, to a miserable 
conchision of sorrow, tliat shall never end. Thus are my 
brightest prospects, clouded ; and thus, to me, is hope, itself 
become like a withered flower, that has lost both its hue and 
its fragrance. I ought not to have written in this dismal 
strain to you, nor did I intend it ; you have more need to be 
cheered than saddened ; but a dearth of other themes con- 
strained me to choose myself for a subject, and of myself I 
can write no otherwise." 

Early in December, 1790, Cowper had a short but severe 
attack of that nervous fever to which he was very subject, 
and which he dreaded above all others, because it generally 
preceded a most severe paroxysm of melancholy. Happily, 
on this occasion, it lasted only for a short time ; and in a 
letter to Mrs. King, dated the last day of the year, he thus 
records his feelings on the occasion : — " I have lately been 
visited with an indisposition much more formidable than that 
which I mentioned to you in my last — a nervous fever, a 
disorder to which I am subject, and which I dread above all 
others, because it comes attended by a melancholy perfectly 
insupportable. This is the first dajr of my complete recovery, 
the first in which I have perceived no symptoms of my terri- 
ble malady. I wish to be thankful to the Sovereign Dis- 
penser both of health and o¥ sickness, that, though I have 
felt cause enough to tremble, He gives me now encourage- 
ment to hope that I may dismiss my fears, and expect an 
escape from my depressive malady. The only drawback to 
the comfort I now feel, is the intelligence contained in yours, 
that neither Mr. King nor yourself are well. I dread always, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 187 

both for my own health and for that of my friends, the un- 
happy influences of a year worn out. But, my dear Madam, 
this is the last day of it, and I resolve to hope that the new 
year shall obliterate all the disagreeables of the old one. I 
can wish nothing more warmly, than that it may prove a pro- 
pitious year for you." 

In the autumn of this year Cowper had sent his " Homer" 
to the press ; and through the whole of the ensuing winter he 
was closely employed in correcting the proof-siieets, and 
making such alterations as he still thought desirable. The 
time which this consumed, and the indefatigable industry 
with which he engaged in it, will be seen by the following 
extracts : — " My poetical operations, I mean of the occasional 
kind, have lately been pretty much at a stand. I told you, 
I believe, in my last, that ' Homer,' in the present stage of 
the process, occupied me more intensely than ever. He still 
continues to do so, and threatens, till he shall be completely 
finished, to make all other composition impracticable. I am 
sick and ashamed of myself that I forgot my promise, but it 
is actually true that I did forget it. You, however, I did not 
forget ; nor did I forget to wonder and be alarmed at your 
silence, being myself perfectly unconscious of my arrears. 
All this, together with various other trespasses of mine, 
must be set down to the account of Homer ; and, wherever 
he is, he is bound to make his apology to all my correspond- 
ents, but to you in particular. True it is, that if Mrs. Unwin 
did not call me from that pursuit, I should forget, in the ar- 
dour with which I persevere in it, both to eat and to drink, if 
not to retire to rest ! This zeal has increased in me regularly 
as I have proceeded, and in an exact ratio, as a mathemati- 
cian would say, to the progress I have made towards the 
point 'at which I have been aiming-. You will believe this, 
when I tell you that, not contented with my previous labours, 
I have actually revised the whole work, and have made a 
thousand alterations in it since it has been in the press. I 
have now, however, tolerably well satisfied myself at least, 
and trust that the printer and I shall trundle along merrily to 
the conclusion." 

In the commencement of 1791, Cowper's long-tried friend, 
Mr. Newton, lost his wife. She died sometime in January, 
after many months' severe suffering, borne with exemplary 
fortitude and patience. She had always taken a lively in- 
terest in Cowper's welfare; and, when she resided at Olney, 
had frequently assisted Mrs. Unwin in the arduous duty of 
watching over the poet, during his painful mental depressioii. 



188 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Her decease, therefore, was sure to affect him deeply ; and 
the following extracts from his letters to Mr. Newton, on this 
trying occasion, will not fail to be interesting-: — " Had you 
been a man of the world, I should have held myself bound, 
by the law of ceremonies, to have sent you long since my 
tribute of condolence. I have sincerely mourned with you ; 
and though you have lost a wife, and I only a friend, yet do 
I understand too well the value of such a friend as Mrs. 
Newton, not to have sympathized with you very nearly. But 
you are not a man of the world ; neither can you, who have 
the scripture, and the Giver of the scripture to console you, 
have any need of aid from others, or expect it from such spi- 
ritual imbecility as mine." 

"Itaifords me sincere pleasure that you enjoy serenity of 
mind, after your great loss. It is well in all circumstances, 
even in the most afflictive, with those who have God for 
their comforter. You do me justice in giving entire credit 
to my expressions of friendship for you. No day passes in 
which I do not look back to the days that are fled, and con- 
sequently none in which I do not feel myself aflTectionately 
reminded of you, and of her whom you have lost for a season. 
I cannot even see Olne)'' spire from any of the fields in the 
neighbourhood, much less can I enter the town, and still less 
the vicarage, without experiencing the force of those me- 
mentoes, and recollecting a multitude of passages to which 
you and yours were parties. The past would appear a dream, 
were the remembrance of it less affecting. It was, in the 
most important respects, so unlike my present moment, that 
I am sometimes almost tempted to suppose it a dream ! But 
the difference between dreams and realities long since elapsed, 
seems to consist chiefly in this : that a dream, however pain- 
ful or pleasant at the time, and perhaps for a few ensuing 
hours, passes like an arrow through the air, leaving no trace 
of its flight behind it ; but our actual experiences make a last- 
ing impression. We review those which interested us much 
when they occurred, with hardly less interest than in the first 
instance ; and whether few years or manjr have intervened, 
our sensibility makes them still present — sach a mere nullity 
is time, to a creature to whom God gives a feeling heart and 
the faculty of recollection." 

In June, 1791, having completed his long and arduous un- 
dertaking — the translation of " Homer," he thus writes to 
Mr. Newton on the occasion: — "Considering the multipli- 
city of your engagements, and the importance, no doubt, of 
most of them, I am bound to set the higher value on your 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 189 

letters ; and, instead of jumbling that they come so seldom, 
to be thankful to you that they come at all. You are now 
going into the country, where I presume you will have less 
to do ; and I am rid of " Homer :" let us try, therefore, if in 
the interval between the present hour and the next busy 
season (for I too, if I live, shall probably be occupied again,) 
we can contrive to exchange letters more frequently than for 
some time past. You do justice to me, and to Mrs. Unwin, when 
you assure yourself that to hear of your health, will give us 
pleasure. I know not, in truth, whose health and well-being 
could give us more. The years that we have seen together 
will never be out of our remembrance ; and, so long as we 
remember them, we must remember you with affection. In 
the pulpit, and out of the pulpit, you have laboured in every 
possible way to serve us; and we must have a short memory 
indeed for the kindness of a friend, could we by any means 
become forgetful of yours. It would grieve me more than it 
does, to hear you complain of the effects of time, were not I 
also myself the subject of them. While he is wearing out 
you and other dear friends of mine, he spares not me ; for 
which I ought to account myself obliged to him, since I 
should otherwise be in danger of surviving all that I have 
ever loved — the most melancholy lot that can befal a mortal. 
God knows w^hat will be my doom hereafter ; but precious as 
life necessarily seems to a mind doubtful of its future happi- 
ness, I love not the world, I trust, so much, as to wish a 
place in it when all my beloved shall have left it. As to Ho- 
mer, I am sensible that, except as an amusement, he was 
never worth my meddling with ; but, as an amusement, he was 
to me invaluable. As such, he served me more than five years-; 
and in that respect I know not, at present, where I shall find 
his equal. You oblige me by saying, that you will read him 
for my sake. I verily believe that any person of a spiritual 
turn may read him to some advantage. He may suggest re- 
flections that may not be unserviceable, even in a sermon ; for 
I know not where we can find more striking examples of the 
pride, the arrogance, and the insignificance of man ; at the 
same time that, by ascribing all events to a divine interposi- 
tion, he inculcates constantly the belief of a Providence ; 
insists much on the duty of charity towards the poor and the 
stranger ; on the respect that is due to superiors, and to our 
seniors in particular ; and on the expedience and necessity of 
prayer and piety towards the gods ; a piety mistaken indeed 
in its object, but exemplary for the punctuality of its per- 
formance. — Thousands who will not learn from scripture to 



190 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

ask a blessing, either on their actions or on their food, may 
learn it, if they please, from Homer." 

It appears from the above extract that Cowper had no ex- 
pectations of again seeing his Homer until it was actually 
before the public. Johnson, the publisher, however, unex- 
pectedly to him, sent him an interleaved copy, and recom- 
mended him to revise it again before it was fully committed 
to the press. On this occasion, he thus writes to his friend 
Mr. Newton : — " I did not foresee, when I challenged you 
to a brisker correspondence, that a new engagement of all 
my leisure time was at hand, — a new, and yet an old one. 
An interleaved copy of my Homer arrived soon after from 
Johnson, in which he recommended it to me to make any 
alterations that might yet be expedient, with a view to an- 
other impression. The alterations that I make are, indeed, 
but few, and they are also short ; not more, perhaps, than 
half a line in two thousand. But the lines are, I suppose, 
nearly forty thousand in all ; and to revise them critically 
must consequently be a work of time and labour. I sus- 
pend it, however, for your sake, till the present sheet be 
filled, and that I may not seem to shrink from my own offer. 
Were I capable of envying, in the strict sense of the word, a 
good man, I should envy Mr. Venn, and Mr. Berridge, and 
yourself, who have spent, and while they last, will con- 
tinue to spend, your lives in the service of the only Master 
worth ^serving ; labouring always for the souls of men, and 
not to tickle their ears, as I do. But this I can say, God 
knows how much rather I would be the obscure tenant of a 
lath and plaster cottage, with a lively sense of my interest in 
a Redeemer, than the most admired object of public notice 
without it. Alas ! what is a whole poem, even one of Ho- 
mer's, compared with a single aspiration that finds its way 
immediately to God, though clothed in ordinary language, or 
perhaps, not articulated at all. — These are my sentiments as 
much as ever they were, though my days are all running to 
waste among Greeks and Trojans. The night cometh when 
no man can work ; and if I am ordained to work to better 
purpose, that desirable period cannot be far distant. My day 
is beginning to shut in, as every man's must, who is on the 
verge of sixty." 



( 191 ) 



CHAPTER XV. 



Publication of his Homer — Anxiety respecting it — To whom 
dedicated — Benefits he had derived from it — Feels the want of 
employment — Prepares materials for a splendid edition of 
Milton^ s poetic works — Vindicates his character — Attempts of 
his friends to dissuade him from his new engagement — His 
replies — The commencement of his acquaintance with Mr. 
Hayley — Pleasure it afforded Mr, Hayley — Mrs. Unwinds 
first attack of paralysis — Manner in which it affected Cowper 
— Remarks on Milfon^s labours — Reply to Mr. Newton^s letter 
for original composition — Continuance of his depression — First 
letter from Mr. Hayley — Unpleasant circumstances respecting 
it — Mr, Hay ley'' s first visit to fVeston — Kind manner in ivhich 
he was received — Mrs. Unwiii's second severe paralytic attack 
— Cowper' s feelings on the occasion — Mr. Hayley^s departure 
— Cowper'^s warm attachment to him — Refiections on the recent 
changes he had witnessed — Promises to visit Eartham — Makes 
preparations for the journey — Peculiarity of his feelings on 
the occasion. 

On the 1st July, 1791, Cowper's Homer appeared. — ^After 
so many years of incessant toil, it was not to be expected that 
he would feel otherwise than anxious respecting the recep- 
tion it met with from the public. He had laboured indefati- 
gably to produce a faithful and free translation of the inimi- 
table original, and he could not be indiflerent to the result. 
To Mrs. King he thus writes on the occasion : — " My Homer 
is gone forth, and I can sincerely say, — joy go with it ! What 
place it holds in the estimation of the generality I cannot tell, 
having heard no more about it since its publication than if no 
such work existed. I must except, however, an anonymous 
eulogium from some man of letters, which I received about a 
week ago. It was kind in a perfect stranger, as he avows 
himself to be, to relieve me in some degree, at least, at so 
early a day, from much of the anxiety that I could not but 
feel on such an occasion : I should be glad to know who he 
is, only that I might thank him." 

Cowper, very properly, dedicated the Iliad to his noble 
relative Earl Cowper, and the Odyssey to the dowager 



192 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Countess Spencer, whom, in one of his letters he thus de- 
scribes : — " We had a visit on Monday from one of the first 
women in the world ; I mean, in point of character and ac- 
complishments, — the Dowager Lady Spencer ! I may receive, 
perhaps, some honours hereafter, should my translation speed 
according to my wishes, and the pains I have taken with it ; 
but shall never receive any that I esteem so highly ; she is 
indeed, worthy, to whom I should dedicate, and may but my 
Odyssey prove as worthy of her, I shall have nothing to fear 
from the critics." 

Whether it arose from the unreasonable expectations of the 
public, or from the utter impossibility of conveying all the 
graces and the beauties of these unrivalled poems, in a trans- 
lation, it is certain that the volumes, when they appeared, 
did not give that satisfaction, either to the author, or to his 
readers, which had been anticipated. It would, perhaps, be 
difficult, if not impossible, to assign a better reason, for the 
imperfection of Cowper's translation, if imperfection it de- 
serves to be called, than that mentioned by his justly admired 
biographer, Mr. Hayley. — "Homer is so exquisitely beauti- 
ful in his own language, and he has been so long an idol in 
every literary mind, that any copy of him, which the best of 
modern poets can execute, must probably resemble in its ef- 
fect, the portrait of a graceful woman, painted by an excellent 
artist for her lover ; the lover, indeed, will acknowledge great 
merit in the work, and think himself much indebted to the 
skill of such an artist, but he will never acknowledge, as in 
truth he never can feel, that the best of resemblances exhibits 
all the graces that he discerns in the beloved original. So 
fares it with the admirers of Homer; his very translators 
themselves, feel so perfectly the power of this predominant 
affection, that they gradually grow discontented with their 
own labour, however approved in the moment of its supposed 
completion. This was so remarkably the case with Cowper, 
that in process of time we shall see him employed upon what 
may almost be called his second translation, so great were 
the alterations he made in a deliberate revisal of the work, 
for a second edition. And in the preface to that edition, he 
has spoken of his own labour witli the most frank and inge- 
nuous veracity. Yet of the first edition it may, I think, be 
fairly said, that it accomplished more than any of his poetical 
predecessors had achieved before him. It made the nearest 
approach to that sweet majestic simplicity which forms one 
of the most attractive features in the great prince and father 
of poets." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 193 

K Cowper had derived no other benefit from his translation, 
than that of constant employment, for so long- a time, when 
he stood so much in need of it, it would have been to him in- 
valuable, as the best and most effectual remedy for that inor- 
dinate sensibility to which he was subject. Besides this, 
however, it procured him other advantages of paramount im- 
portance; it improved the general state of his health; it in- 
troduced him to a circle of literary friends, whom he would 
otherwise never have known, and who, when they once knew 
him, could not fail to feel affectionately interested in his 
welfare; it brought him into closer contact with those with 
whom he had previously been acquainted, by inducing him 
to avail himself of their kind offers and assistance in the 
transcribing way,* which to a mind like his could not fail to 
become a source of almost uninterrupted enjoyment ; it esta- 
blished his reputation as a most accomplished scholar, and 
unquestionably ranked him among- the highest class of poets. 

A living writer has well remarked, that "to Cowper's 
translation of Homer, we are beholden, not only for the plea- 
sure which a perusal will be sure to afibrd to reasonable and 
patient readers, but we may attribute to its happy possession 
of his mind all the beautiful and inimitable letters which ap- 
pear in his correspondence, during- the progress of that work. 
The toil of daily turning over the thoughts of the greatest of 
poets, in every form of English that his ingenuity could de- 
vise, occupied, for many years, that very portion of his time 
which, with a person of no profession, and having no stated 
duties to perform, lies heaviest upon the spirit. The salut-ary 
exercise of his morning studies made him relish with keener 
zest, the relaxation of his social hours, or those welcome op- 
portunities of epistolary converse with the absent, in which 
it is evident that much of the little happiness allowed to him 
lay ; he is never more at home, consequently never more 
amiable, sprightly, and entertaining, and even poetical, than 
in his correspondence, when he pours out all the treasures of 
his mind and the affections of his heart, upon the paper which 
is to be the speaking representative of himself to th^se he 
loves. It has often been regretted th-at inste-ad of this labour 
in vain, as the translation of Homer has sometimes seemed 
to many, he had not spent an equal portion of time and talent 

* It is said that Broome assisted Pope very largely in his trmts- 
lation of Homer; but Cowper had no assistant in that way. All 
the Throckmorton family, Lady Hesketh, Mrs. Johnson, and 
many others, helped him as transcribers, and only as such. 
17 



194 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

on original composition. The regret is at least as much be- 
stowed in vain, as was tliat labour, for there is no well-found- 
ed reason to suppose, from the momentary jeopardy in which 
he lived, of being plunged into sudden, irretrievable despond- 
ence, that if he had been otherwise employed, he could have'^j 
maintained even that small share of health and cheerfulness ^ 
which he enjoyed. 

It is not to be expected that a mind like Cowper's could 
remain for any lengthened period unemployed. Accustomed 
as he had long been to intense application, when he had com- 
pleted his great work, he immediately felt the want of some 
other engagement. To a mind less active than his, replying 
to his correspondents, which had now become most extensive, 
would have been employment amply sufficient — especially as 
he was considerably in arrears with them, owing to his pre- 
vious labours. Tliis, however, was not enough for Cowper. 
He wanted something more worthy of his powers ; solhe- 
thing that required more vigour of thought, and demanded 
more severe application. Several of his friends again urged 
him for original composition, and in all probability they 
would have been successful, had he not, about this time, re- 
ceived a letter from his publisher, of whose judgment and in- 
tegrity he had always entertained a high opinion, recommend- 
ing him to prepare materials for a splendid edition of Milton. 
To this proposal Cowper immediately assented. He had 
always expressed himself delighted with Milton's poetry, 
and on one occasion, in a letter to his friend Mr. Unwin, had 
thus ventured to defend his character from the severe censures 
cast upon him by Johnson, in his " Lives of the Poets :" — 
" I have been well entertained with Johnson's biography, for 
■which I thank you ; with one exception, and that a swinging 
one, I think he has acquitted himself with his usual good 
sense and sufficiency. His treatment of Milton is unmerci- 
ful to the last degree. He has belaboured that great poet's 
character with the most industrious cruelty. As a man, he 
has hardly left him the shadow of one good quality. Churl- 
ishness in his private life, and a rancorous hatred of every- 
thing royal in his public, are the two colours with which he 
has smeared all the canvas. If he had any virtues, they are 
not to be found in the Doctor's picture of him, and it is well 
for Milton, that some sourness in his temper is the only vice, 
with which his memory has been charged ; it is evident 
enough, that if his biographer could have discovered more, 
he would not have spared him. As a poet he has treated him 
with severity enough, and has plucked one or two of the most 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 195 

beautiful featliers out of his muse's wing, and trampled them 
under his great foot. He has passed sentence of condemna- 
tion upon Lycidas, and has taken occasion from that charm- 
ing poem, to expose to ridicule (what is indeed ridiculous 
enough) the childish prattlings of pastoral compositions, as 
if Lycidas was the prototype and pattern of them all. The 
liveliness of the description, the sweetness of the numbers, 
the classical spirit of antiquity that prevails in it, go for 
nothing. I am convinced by the way, that he has no ear for 
poetical numbers, or that it was stopped by prejudice against 
the harmony of Milton's. Was there ever any thing so de- 
lightful as the music of the Paradise lost 1 It is like that 
of a fine organ ; has the fullest and the deepest tones of ma- 
jesty, with all the softness and elegance of the Dorian flute. 
Variety without end, and never equalled, unless perhaps by 
Virgil, Yet the Doctor has little or nothing to say upon this 
copious theme, but talks something about the unfitness of the 
English language for blank-verse, and how apt it is, in the 
mouth of some readers, to degenerate into declamation." 

Cowper had no sooner made up his mind on the subject 
of his new engagement, than he communicated it to his cor- 
respondents. To one he writes, " I am deep in a new lite- 
rary engagement, being retained by my bookseller as editor 
of an intended most magnificent edition of Milton's Poetical 
Works. This will occupy me as much as Homer did, for a 
year or two to come ; and when I have finished it, I shall 
have run through all the degrees of my profession, as author, 
translator, and editor. I know not that a fourth could be 
found } but if a fourth can be found, 1 dare say I shall find it. 
I am now translating Milton's Latin poems, I give them, as 
opportunity offers, all the variety of measures that I can. 
Some I render in heroic rhymes, some in stanzas, some in 
seven, some in eight syllable measure, and some in blank 
verse. They will altogether, I hope, make an agreeable mis- 
cellany for the English reader. They are certainly good in 
themselves, and cannot fail to please, but by the fault of their 
translator." 

One of his most esteemed correspondents, the Rev, Wal- 
ter Bagot, attempted to dissuade him from entering upon his 
new engagement, and urged him to publish in a third volume, 
what original pieces he had already composed, added to a 
translation of Milton's Latin and Italian poems. Had this 
plan been suggested to him earlier, he would, in all probabi- 
lity, have pursued it, as he thus writes to his friend on the 
subject. " As to Milton, the die is cast. I am engaged, 



196 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

have bargained with Johnson, and cannot recede. I should 
otherwise have been ghid to do as you advise, to make the 
translation of his Latin and Italian poems, part of another 
volume, for with such an addition, I have nearly as much verse 
in my budget, as would be required for the purpose." 

From some expressions in a letter to Rev. Mr. Hurdis, the 
author of The Village Curate, with whom Cowper had en- 
tered into a correspondence, a few months previous to this, and 
to whom he had written several most interesting letters; it 
would appear as if he entered upon his new engagement, ra- 
ther precipitately, and without due consideration. " I am 
much obliged to you for wishing that I were employed in 
some original work, rather than in translation. To tell the 
truth, I am of your mind ; and unless I could find another 
Homer, I shall promise (I believe) and vow, when I have 
done with Milton, never to translate again. But my venera- 
tion for our great countryman is equal to what I feel for the 
Grecian; and consequently I am happy, and feel myself ho- 
nourably employed, whatever I do for Milton. I am now 
translating his JEpitap/iiurn Dmnonis ,- a pastoral, in my judg- 
ment, equal to any of Virgil's Bucolics, but of which Dr. 
Johnson (so it pleased him) speaks, as I remember, con- 
temptuously. But he who never saw any beauty in a rural 
scene, was not likely to have much taste for a pastoral. In 
pace guiescat /" 

Among other consequences resulting from his new under- 
taking, one of the most gratifying to himself was, its be- 
coming the means of introducing him to an acquaintance with 
his esteemed friend, and future biographer, Mr. Hayley. 
This important event in Cowper's life, — so ft afterwards 
proved, — is related with so much beauty and simplicity by 
Mr. Hayley, in his life of Cowper, and reflects a lustre so 
bright on both the biographer and the poet, that we cannot 
do better that give it in his own words. Mr. Hayley thus 
relates the circumstance. " As it is to Milton that I am in 
a great measure indebted for what I must ever regard as a 
signal blessing, the friendship of Cowper, the reader will 
pardon me for dwelling a little on the circumstances that pro- 
duced it: circumstances which often lead me to repeat those 
sweet verses of my friend, on the casual origin of our valua- 
ble attachments." 

"Mysterious are His ways whose power 
Brings forth thai unexpected hour. 
When minds tliiit never met before 
Shall meet, unite, and part no more : 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 197 

It is the allotment of the skies, 
The hand of the supremely wise, 
That guides and governs our affections, 
And plans and orders our connections.'*' 

" These charming lines strike with peculiar force on my 
heart, when I recollect that it was an idle endeavour to make 
us enemies, which gave rise to our intimacy, and that I was 
providentially conducted to Weston at a season when my pre- 
sence there afforded peculiar comfort to my affectionate friend, 
under the pressure of a very heavy domestic affliction which 
threatened to overwhelm 'lis very tender spirits. The entrea- 
ty of many persons whom I wished to oblige, had engaged 
me to write a life of Milton, before I had the slightest suspi- 
cion that my work could interfere with the projects of any 
man ; but I was soon surprised and concerned in hearing that 
I was represented in a newspaper as an antagonist of Cow- 
per. I immediately wrote to him on the subject, and our 
correspondence soon endeared us to each other in no common 
degree. The series of his letters to me I value, not only as 
memorials of a most dear and honourable friendship, but as 
exquisite examples of epistolary excellence." 

The above interesting extract will have informed the rea- 
der that Mr. Hayley paid Cowper a visit at Weston; this 
visit, however, so gratifying to both parties, did not take 
place till the beginning of May, 1792. In the Decemberpre- 
vious, Cowper met with one of the heaviest domestic cala- 
mities he had ever experienced. Mrs. Unwin, his affectionate 
companion who had watched over him, with so much tender- 
ness and anxiety, for so many years, was suddenly attacked 
with strong symptoms of paralysis. In a letter to his friend, 
Mr. Rose, dated 21st December, 1791, Cowper thus relates 
this painful event : — " On Saturday last, while I was at my 
desk, near the window, and Mrs. Unwin at the fire-side op- 
posite to it, I heard her suddenly exclaim, ' Oh ! Mr. Cow- 
per, don't let me fall !' I turned, and saw her actually falling 
and started to her side just in time to prevent her. She was 
seized with a violent giddiness, which lasted, though with 
soriie abatement, the whole day, and was attended with some 
other very, very alarming symptoms. At present, however, 
she is relieved from the vertigo, and seems, in all respects, 
better. She has been my faithful and affectionate nurse for 
many years, and consequently has a claim on all my atten- 
tions. She has them, and will have them, as long as she 
wants them, which will probably be. at the least, a conside- 
17* 



198 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

rable time to come. I feel the shock, as you may suppose, 
in every nerve. God grant that there may be no repetition 
of it. Another such a stroke upon her would, I think, over- 
set me completely ; but, at present, I hold up bravely." 

Notwithstanding the interruption of Cowper's studies, oc- 
casioned by Mrs. Unwin's indisposition, and by the extreme 
slowness of her recovery, he had now become so much ac- 
customed to regular employment, and had derived from it so 
many advantages, that he could not possibly remain inactive. 
In the month of February we find him thus employed. " Mil- 
ton, at present, engrosses me altogether. His Latin pieces I 
have translated, and have begun with the Italian. These are 
few, and will not detain me long. I shall proceed immediate- 
ly to deliberate upon, and to settle the plan of my commen- 
tary, which I have hitherto had but little time to consider. I 
look forward to it, for this reason, with some anxiety. I 
trust, at least, that this anxiety will cease, when I have once 
satisfied myself about the best manner of conducting it. But, 
after all, I seem to fear more the labour to which it calls, than 
any great difficulty with which it is likely to be attended. 
To the labours of versifying I have no objection, but to the 
labours of criticism I am new, and apprehend that I shall find 
them wearisome. Should that be the case I shall be dull, 
but must be contented to share the censure of being so, with 
almost all the commentators that have ever existed. I will, 
however, have no horrida bella, if I can help it. It is, at least, 
my present purpose to avoid them if possible ; for which rea- 
son, I shall confine myself merely to the business of an anno- 
tator, which is my proper province, and shall sift out of War- 
ton's notes every tittle that relates to the private character, 
political or religious principles of my author. These are pro- 
perly subjects for a biographer's handling, but by no means, 
as it seems to me, for a commentator's." 

In reply to a pressing letter from his friend, Mr. Newton, 
for original composition, written about this time, Cowper 
thus expresses himself: — " Your demand for more original 
composition from me will, if I live, and it please God to 
afford me health, in all probability, be sooner or later grati- 
fied. In the meantime you need not, and if you turn the mat- 
ter over in your thoughts a little, you will perceive that you 
need not, think me unworthily employed in preparing a new 
edition of Milton. His two principal poems are of a kind 
that call for an editor who believes the gospel, and is well 
grounded in evangelical doctrine. Such an editor they have 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 199 

never had, though only such an one can be qualified for the 
office." 

The peculiarity of Cowper's religious feelings still conti- 
nued to exist; and it seemed impossible for him to divest 
himself entirely of those gloomy apprehensions, of his own 
personal interest in the blessings of the gospel, which had 
harassed and distressed him for so many years. On every 
other subject he could vv^rite, and converse, with ease to him- 
self, and with pleasure to others ; but the morbid tendency of 
his mind to despondency, tinged all his remarks with mid- 
night gloom whenever he adverted to this. An instance of 
this occurred in one of his letters to Mr. Newton about this 
time. After describing, in his own playful manner, some 
changes that had recently taken place in the circle of his im- 
mediate acquaintance, he thus closes his letter, which, not- 
withstanding tTie excellence of the remarks, evinces the ex- 
istence of considerable depression. " Such is this variable 
scene, so variable, that, had the reflections I sometimes make 
upon it a permanent influence, I should tremble at the 
thought of a new connection ; and to be out of the reach of 
its mutability, lead almost the life of a hermit. It is well 
with those, who, like you, have God for their companion ; 
death cannot deprive them of Mm, and he changes not the 
place of his abode. Other changes, therefore, to them are 
all supportable ; and what you say of your own experience 
is the strongest possible proof of it. Had you lived without 
God, you could not have endured the loss you mention. May 
he preserve me from a similar one; at least, till he shall be 
pleased to draw me to himself again. Then, if ever that day 
come, it will make me equal to my burden ; at present, I can 
bear nothing well, I, however, generally manage to pass my 
time comfortably, as much so, at least, as Mrs. Unwin's fre- 
quent indisposition, and my no less frequent troubles of mind, 
will permit. When I am much distressed, any company 
but her's distresses me more, and makes me doubly sensible 
of my sufferings, though sometimes, I confess, it falls out 
otherwise; and by the help of more general conversation, I 
recover that elasticity of mind which is able to resist the 
pressure. On the whole, 1 believe, I am situated exactly as 
I should wish to be, were my situation determined by my 
own election ; and am denied no comfort that is compatible 
with the total absence of the chief of all. I rejoiced, and had 
great reason to do so, in your coming to Weston, for I think 
the Lord came with you. Not, indeed, to abide with me, nor 
to restore me to that intercourse which I had with him, and 



200 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

which I enjoyed twenty years ago, but to awaken in me, 
however, more spiritual feeling than I have experienced, ex- 
cept in two instances, all that time. The comforts that I had 
received under your ministry in better days, all rushed upon 
my recollection ; and, during two or three transient mo- 
ments, seemed to be in a degree renewed. You will tell me 
that, transient as they were, they were yet evidences of a 
love that is not so ; and I am desirous to believe it." 

We have already informed our readers, that Cowper's 
engagement as the editor of Milton, became the means of in- 
troducing him to Mr. Hayley. He received the first letter 
from that gentleman in March, 1792. An incident occurred 
respecting this letter which ought not to go unrecorded ; as 
it might have proved fatal to that friendship, which became 
to both the poets, a source of the purest enjoyment. Neither 
of these talented individuals, had, at that time, any know- 
ledge of each other. Mr. Hayley had read Cowper's pro- 
ductions with no ordinary emotions of delight, and had con- 
sequently conceived the highest respect for their unknown 
author ; and nothing could have occasioned him greater sur- 
prise, as well as uneasiness, than to be represented as the 
opponent of one whom he so highly respected. No sooner 
was he apprized of it than he wrote to Cowper, generously 
offering him any materials that he had collected, Avith as 
much assistance as it was in his power to afford, and 
being unacquainted with his address, directed his letter to 
the care of Johnson, his publisher. Either through the care- 
lessness or inadvertence of Johnson, this letter remained in 
his hands for a considerable time, and was not delivered to 
Cowper till six weeks after it had been written. Imme- 
diately on receiving it Cowper wrote to Mr. Hayley, explain- 
ing the cause of his long delayed reply, and from that time, 
an interchange of many most interesting letters took place, 
which subsequently led to a friendship the most cordial and 
ardent, which it was only in the power of death to dissolve. 
In a letter to Lady Hesketh, Cowper thus adverts to this cir- 
cumstance : — " Mr. Hayley's friendly and complimentary 
letter, from some unknown cause, at least to me, slept six 
weeks in Johnson's custody. It was necessary I should an- 
swer it without delay, accordingly I answered it the very 
evening on vi'hich I received it, giving him to understand, 
among other things, how much vexation the bookseller's 
folly had cost me, who had detained it so long, especially on 
account of the distress that I knew it must have occasioned 
to him also. From his reply, which the return of the post 



i 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 201 

brought me, 1 learn that in the long interval of my non- 
correspondence he had suffered anxiety and mortification 
enough; so much so that I dare say he made twenty vows 
never to hazard again either letter or compliment to an un- 
known author. What, indeed, could he imagine less, than 
that I meant by such obstinate silence to tell him that I 
valued neither him nor his praises, nor his proffered friend- 
ship ; in short, that I considered him as a rival, and, there- 
fore, like a true author, hated and despised him. He is now, 
however, convinced that I love him, as indeed I do, and I 
account him the chief acquisition that my verse has ever 
procured me. Brute should I be if I did not, for he promises 
me every assistance in his power." 

To Mr. Hayley, at the commencement of Cowper's corres- 
pondence with him, and after the above unpleasant occur- 
rence had been satisfactorily accounted for, and amicably set- 
tled, he thus expresses his anxiety that the friendship thus 
formed might be lasting : — "God grant that this friendship 
of ours may be a comfort to us all the rest of our days, in a 
world where true friendsliips are rarities, and especially, 
where suddenly formed, they are apt soon to terminate. But, 
as I said before, I feel a disposttion of heart towards you 
that I never felt for one whom I had never seen ; and that 
shall prove itself, I trust, in that event, a propitious omen. 
It gives me the sincerest pleasure that I hope to see you at 
Weston ; for as to any migrations of mine, they must, I fear, 
notwithstanding the joy I should feel in being aguest of yours, 
be still considered in the light of impossibilities. Come, then, 
my friend, and be as welcome, as the country people say 
here, as the flowers in May. I am happy, I say, in the ex- 
pectation, but the fear or rather the consciousness, that I 
shall not answer on a nearer view, makes it a trembling kind 
of happiness, and invests it with many doubts. Bring with 
you any books that you think may be useful to my comment- 
atorship, for with you for an interpreter, I shall be afraid of 
none of them. And in truth if you think you shall want 
them, you must bring books for your own use also, for they 
are an article with which I am heinously unprovided ; being 
much in the condition of the man whose library Pope de- 
scribes, as — 

" No mighty store! 
His own works neatly bound, and little more." 

Mr. Hayley's projected visit, anticipated so fondly, both 
by himself and by Cowper, took place in May, 1792 The 



202 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

interview between these talented individuals proved recipro- 
cally delightful. Though Cowper was now in his sixty-first 
year, he felt none of the infirmities of advanced life, but was 
as active and vigorous, both in mind and body, as his best 
friends could wish him. Mrs. Unwin had nearly recovered 
from her late severe attack, and as her health was every day 
progressively improving, there seemed every probability of 
their enjoying a long continuance of domestic comfort. Mr. 
Hayley thus describes the manner in which he was received, 
and his sensations on the occasion. — "Their reception of me 
was kindness itself; I was enchanted to find that the man- 
ners and conversation of Cowper resembled his poetry, 
charming by unaffected elegance, and the graces of a benevo- 
lent spirit. I looked with aflfectionate veneration and plea-'' 
sure on the lady, who, having devoted her life and fortune to 
the service of this tender and sublime genius, in watching 
over him with maternal vigilance, through so many years of 
the darkest calamity, appeared to be now enjoying a reward 
justly due to the noblest exertions of friendship, in contem- 
plating the health, and the renown of the poet, whom she had 
the happiness to preserve. It seemed hardly possible to sur- 
vey human nature in a more touching, and a more satisfactory 
point of view. Their tender attention to each other, their 
simple, devout gratitude for the mercies which they had ex- 
perienced together, and their constant but unaffected propen- 
sity to impress on the mind and heart of a new friend, the 
deep sense which they incessantly felt, of their mutual obli- 
gations to each other ; afforded me very singular gratifica- 
tion." 

This scene of exquisite enjoyment to all parties, as is fre- 
quently the case in a world like ours, was suddenly ex- 
changed for one of the deepest melancholy and distress. Mr. 
Hayley has related the painful event with so much tender- 
ness and simplicity, that we cannot do better than present it 
to our readers in his own words. — " After passing our morn- 
ings in social study, we usually walked out together at noon ; 
in returning from one of our rambles round the pleasant vil- 
lage of Weston, we were met by Mr. Greethead, an accom- 
plished minister of the gospel, who resides at Newport Pag- 
nel, and whom Cowper described to me in terms of cordial 
esteem. He came forth to meet us, as we drew near tlie 
house, and it was soon visible from his countenance and 
manner, that he had ill news to impart. After the most ten- 
der preparation that humanity could devise, he informed Cow- 
per, that Mrs, Unwin was under the immediate pressure of a 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 203 

paralytic attack. My agitated friend, rushed to the sight of 
the sufferer ; he returned to me in a state that alarmed me in 
the highest degree for his faculties : his first speech was 
wild in the extreme ; my answer would appear little less so, 
but it was addressed to the predominant fancy of my un- 
happy friend, and with the blessing of heaven, it produced an 
instantaneous calm in his troubled mind. From that moment 
he rested on my friendship with such mild and cheerful con- 
fidence, that his affectionate spirit regarded me as sent provi- 
dentially to support him in a season of the severest affliction." 
The best means to promote the recovery of Mrs. Unwin, 
that could have been used under similar circumstances, were 
resorted to. Happily, they proved to a considerable degree 
successful, and she gradually recovered both her strength 
and the use of her faculties. The effect of this attack, how- 
ever, upon Cowper's tender mind, was in the highest degree 
painful. This will not perhaps be surprising, when it is re- 
collected how sincerely he was attached to his afflicted in- 
mate, and how deeply jie interested himself in everything 
that related to her welfare. The following beautiful lines 
will convey to the reader some idea of the exalted opinion 
he had formed of her character." 

"Mary ! I want a lyi'e with other strings, 
Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew. 
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
And vmdebased by praise of meaner things ! 
That ere througli ag-e or woe I shed my wings, 
I may record thy worth, with honour due, 
In verse as musical as thou art true — 
Verse that immortalizes whom it sings ! 
But thou hast little need : there is a book, 
- By seraphs writ, with beams of heavenly light, 
On whicli the eyes of God not rarely look ! 
A chronicle of actions just and bright ! 
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, 
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine." 

The following extracts from Cowper's correspondence, 
immediately after this painfal event, describe satisfactorily 
the state of his mind: — "I wish with all my heart, my 
dearest cousin, that I had not ill news for the subject of this 
letter : my friend, my Mary, has again been attacked by the 
same disorder that threatened me last year with the loss of 
her, of which you were yourself a witness. The present 
attack has been much the severest. Her speech has been 



204 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 

almost unintellig-ible from the moment that she was struck : 
it is with difficulty she can open her eyes; and she cannot 
keep them open, the muscles necessary for that purpose being 
contracted ; and as to self-moving powers from place to place, 
and the right use of her hand and arm, she has entirely lost 
them. I hope, however, she is beginning to recover: her 
amendment is indeed but very slow, as must be expected at 
her time of life. I am as well myself, and indeed better 
than you have ever known me in such trouble. It has hap- 
pened well for me that, of all men living, the man best quali- 
fied to assist and comfort me, is here; though, till within 
these few days, I never saw him, and a few weeks since had 
no expectation that I ever should. You have already guessed 
that I mean Hayley — Hayley, who loves me as if he had 
known me from my cradle. When he returns to town, as he 
mitst, alas ! he will pay his respects to you. He has, I as- 
sure you, been all in all to us, on this very afflictive occa- 
sion. Love him, I charge you, dearly, for my sake. Where 
could I have found a man, except himself, so necessary to 
me, in so short a time, that I absolutely know not how to live 
without him ]" 

Mr. Hayley left Weston early in June, at which time 
many pleasing symptoms of Mrs. Unwin's ultimate recovery 
began to appear. Cowper's letters to his friend after his de- 
parture, which were written almost daily, afford ample proofs 
of the warmth of his affection for him, and of the deep in- 
terest he took in promoting Mrs. Unwin's recovery. He 
thus commences his first letter to Mr. Hayley: — "All's 
WELL ! which words I place as conspicuously as possible, 
and prefix them to my letter, to save you the pain, my friend 
and brother, of a moment's anxious speculation. Poor Mary 
proceeds in her amendment, and improves, I think, even at a 
swifter rate than when you left her. The stronger she grows, 
the faster she gathers strength, which is perhaps the natural 
course of recovery. Yesterday was a noble day with her : 
speech, almost perfect — eyes, open almost the whole day, 
without any effort to keep them so, — and her step, wonder- 
fully improved ! Can I ever honour you enough for your zeal 
to serve me 1 Truly I think not. I am, however, so sensible 
of the love I owe to you on this acoount, that I every day 
regret the acuteness of your feelings for me, convinced that 
they expose you to much trouble, mortification and disap- 
pointment. I have, in short, a poor opinion of ray destiny, 
as I told you when 3'ou were here ; and though I believe, if 
any man living can do me good, you will, I cannot yet per- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 205 

suade myself that even you will be successful in attempting 
it. But it is no matter : you are yourself a good which I 
can never value enouoh ; and, whether rich or poor in other 
respects, I shall always account my self better provided for than 
I deserve, with such a friend as you, that I can call my own. 
Let it please .God to continue to me my William and Mary, 
and I shall be more reasonable than to grumble. I rose this 
morning, wrapt round with a cloud of melancholy, and with 
a heart full of fears; but if I see my Mary's amendment a 
little advanced, I shall be better." 

"Of what materials can you suppose me made, if, after 
all the rapid proofs you have given me of your friendship, I 
do not love you with all my heart, and regret your absence 
continually. But you must permit me to be melancholy now 
and then ; or, if you will not, I must be so without your per- 
mission ; for that sable thread is so interwoven with the very 
thread of my existence as to be inseparable from it, at least 
while I exist in the body. Be content, therefore : let me sigh 
and groan, but always be sure that I love you. You will be 
well assured that I should not have indulged myself in this 
rhapsody about myself and my melancholy, had my present 
state of mind been of that complexion, or had not our poor 
Mary seemed still to advance in her recovery. It is a great 
blessing to ns both, that, feeble as she is, she has a most in- 
vincible courage, and a trust in God's goodness that nothing 
shakes. She is certainly, in some degree, better than she 
was yesterday ; but how to measure the degree I know not, 
except by saying — that it is just perceptible." 

In a letter dated 11th June, 1792, Cowper thus discloses 
his state of mind to Lady Hesketh. "My dearest cousin, 
thou art ever in my thoughts, whether I am writing to thee 
or not, and my correspondence seems to grow upon me at 
such a rate, that I am not able to address thee so often as I 
would. In fact, I live only to write letters. Hayley is, as 
you see, added to the number of my correspondents, and to 
him I write almost as duly as I rise in the morning. Since 
I wrote last, Mrs. Unwin has been continually improving in 
strength, but at so gradual a rate, that I can only mark it by 
saying that she moves every day with less support than the 
former. On the whole, I believe she goes on as well as can 
be expected, though not quite so well as to satisfy me." 

" During the last two months I seem to myself to have 

been in a dream. It has been a most eventful period, and 

fruitful to an uncommon degree, both in good and in evil. I 

have been very ill, and suffered excruciating pain. I reco- 

18 



206 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

vered, and became quite well again. I received within my 
doors a man, but lately, an entire stranger, and who now 
loves me as his brother, and forgets himself to serve me. 
Mrs. Unwin has been seized with an illness, that for many 
days threatened to deprive me of her, and to cast a gloom, 
an impenetrable one, on all my future prospects. She is now 
granted to me again. A few days since I should have 
thought the moon might have descended into my purse as 
likely as any emolument, and now it seems not impossible. 
All this has come to pass with such rapidity as events move 
with in romance indeed, but not often in real life. Events 
of all sorts creep or fly exactly as God pleases." 

While Mr. Hayley was at Weston, he had persuaded 
Cowper and JMrs. Unwin to promise him a visit atEartham, 
some time in the summer. Believing that it would greatly 
improve Mrs. Unwin's health, and be an agreeable relaxation 
to Cowper, after the anxiety of mind he had felt respecting 
his esteemed invalid. Mr. Hayley wrote several pressing 
invitations to induce them to come as early as possible. The 
following extracts will show the state of Cowper's mind 
respecting it. To Mr. Bull he writes, " We are on the eve 
of a journey, and a long one. On this very day se'nnight we 
set out for Eartham, the seat of my brother bard, Mr. Hay- 
ley, on the other side of London, nobody knows where, a 
hundred and twenty miles off. Pray for us, my friend, that 
we may have a safe going and return. It is a tremendous 
exploit, and I feel a thousand anxieties when I think of it. 
But a promise made to him when he was here, that we would 
go if we could, and a sort of persuasion that we can if we 
will, oblige us to it. The journey and the change of air, 
together with the novelty to us of the scene to which we are 
going, may, I hope, be useful to us both; especially to Mrs. 
Unwin, who has most need of restoratives." 

To Mr. Newton he thus discloses his feelings on the sub- 
ject. "You may imagine that we, who have been resident 
in one spot for so many j'ears, do not engage in such an en- 
terprise without some anxiety. Persons accustomed to travel 
would make themselves merry with mine ; it seems so dis- 
proportioned to the occasion. Once I have been on the point 
of determining not to go, and even since we fixed the day, 
my troubles have been almost insupportable. But it has been 
made a matter of much prayer, and at last it has pleased God 
to satisfy me, in some measure, that his will corresponds 
with our purpose, and that he will afford us his protection. 
You, I know, will not be unmindful of us during our absence 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 207 

from home ; but will obtain for us, if your prayers can do it, 
all that we would ask for ourselves — the presence and favour 
of God, a salutary effect of our journey, and a safe return." 
Anxious to enjoy the pleasure of Cowper's company at 
Eartham, Mr. Hayley, in his letters to the poet, urged him, 
by no means to defer his visit till late in the summer. From 
Cowper's replies we select the following interesting extracts. 
" The weather is sadly against my Mary's recovery ; it de- 
prives her of many a good turn in the orchard, and fifty times 
have I wished this very day, that Dr. Darwin's scheme of 
giving rudders and sails to the icelands, that spoil all our 
summers, were actually put into practice. So should we 
have gentle airs instead of churlish blasts, and those ever- 
lasting sources of bad weather, being once navigated into 
the southern hemisphere, my Mary would recover as fast 
again. We are both of your mind respecting the journey to 
Eartham, and think that July, if by that time she have 
strength for the journey, will be better than August. This, 
however, must be left to the Giver of all Good. If our visit 
to you be according to his will, he will smooth our way be- 
fore us, and appoint the time of it; and I thus speak not 
because I wish to seem a saint in your eyes, but because my 
poor Mary actually is one, and would not set her foot over 
the threshold, unless she had, or thought she had, God's free 
permission. With that she would go through floods and fire, 
though without it she would be afraid of everything — afraid 
even to visit you, dearly as she loves, and much as she longs 
to see you." 

In another letter to Mr. Hayley, he writes, " The progress 
of the old nurse in Terence is very much like the progress of 
my poor patient in the road to recovery. I cannot indeed say 
that she moves but advances not, for advances are certainly 
made, but the progress of a week is hardly perceptible. I know 
not, therefore, at present, what to say about this long post- 
poned journey ; the utmost that it is safe for me to say at this 
moment is this, — you know that you are dear to us both ; 
true it is that you are so, and equally true, that the very in- 
stant we feel ourselves at liberty, we will fly to Eartham. 
You wish me to settle the time, and I wish with all my 
heart so to do ; living in hopes, meanwhile, that I shall be 
able to do it soon. But some little time must necessarily 
intervene. Our Mary must be able to walk alone, to cut her 
own food, and to feed herself, and to wear her own shoes, for 
at present she wears mine. All these things considered, my 
friend and brother, you will see the expediency of waiting 



208 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

a little before we set off to Eartharn. We mean, indeed, be- 
fore that day arrives, to make a trial of her strength ; how 
far she may be able to bear the motion of a carriage, a motion 
that she has not felt these seven years. I grieve that we are 
thus circumstanced, and that we cannot gratify ourselves in 
a delightful and innocent project, without all these precau- 
tions ; but when we have leaf-gold to handle, we must do it 
tenderly." 

The day was at length fixed for this long-intended journey ; 
and the following letter to Mr. Hayley, written a day or two 
previously, describes Cowper's feelings respecting it: — 

"Through floods and flames to your retreat 

I win my desp'rate way, 
And when we meet, if e'er we meet, 

Will echo your huzza !" 

" You will wonder at the word desperate in the second line, 
and at the //"in the third ; but could you have any conception 
of the fears that I have had to bustle with, of the dejection^of 
spirits I have suffered concerning this journey, you would 
wonder much that I still courageously persevere in my resolu- 
tion to undertake it. Fortunately for my intention, it happens 
that as the day approaches my terrors abate ; for had they 
continued to be, what they were a week ago, I must, after 
all, have disappointed you ; and was actually once, on the 
verge of doing it. I have told you something of m}' noctur- 
nal experiences, and assure you now, that they were hardly 
ever more terrific than on this occasion. Prayer has, how- 
ever, opened my passage at last, and obtained for me a de- 
gree of confidence, that I trust will prove a comfortable via-, 
ticum to me all the way. The terrors that I have spoken of, 
would appear ridiculous to most, but to jow they will not, 
for you are a reasonable creature, and know well that to 
whatever cause it be owing, (whether to constitution or to 
God's express appointment) I am hunted bj' spiritual hounds 
in the night season. I cannot help it. You will pity me, 
and wish it were otherwise ; and though you may think there 
is much of the imaginary in it, will not deem it, for that rea- 
son, an evil less to be lamented. So much for fears and 
distresses. Soon I hope they will all have a joyful ter- 
mination, and I and my Mary be skipping with delight at 
Eartham." 

The protracted indisposition of Mrs. Unwin, and the pre- 
paration which Cowper thought it necessary to make for his 
journey, had entirely diverted his mind from his literary un- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 209 

dertaking. To Mr. Hayley, on this point, he thus writes : 
— " I know not how you proceed in your Life of Milton, but 
I suppose not very rapidly, for while you were here, and 
since you left us, you have had no other theme but me. As 
for myself, except my letters, and the nuptial song I sent 
j^ou in my last, I have literally done nothing-, since I saw 
you. Nothing, I mean, in the writing wa}^, though a great 
deal in another ; that is to say, in attending my poor Mary, 
and endeavouring to nurse her up for a journey to Eartham. 
In this I have hitherto succeeded tolerably well, and I had 
rather carry this point completely than be the most famous 
editor of Milton the world has ever seen, or shall see. As to 
this aflair, I know not what will become of it. I wrote to 
Johnson a week since to tell him, that the interruption of 
Mrs. Unwin's illness still continued, and being likely to con- 
tinue, I knew not when I should be able to proceed. The 
translations I said were finished, except therevisal of a part. 
I hope, or rather wish, that at Eartham I may recover that 
habit of study, which, inveterate as it once seemed, I now 
seem to have lost — lost to such a degree, that it is even pain- 
ful for me to think of what it will cost me to acquire it 
again." 

About this time, at the request of a much esteemed rela- 
tive, Cowper sat to Abbot, the painter, for his portrait; and 
the following playful manner in which he adverts to the cir- 
cumstance, exhibits the peculiarity of his case, and shows, 
that though he was almost invariably suffering under the in- 
fluence of deep depression, he frequently wrote to his corres- 
pondents, in a strain the most sprightly and cheerful : — 
" How do you imagine I have been occupied these last ten 
days ] In sitting, not on cockatrice eggs, nor yet to gratify a 
mere idle humour, nor because I was too sick to move, but 
because my cousin Johnson has an aunt who has a longing 
desire of my picture, and because he would, therefore, bring 
a painter from London to draw it. For this purpose I have 
been sitting, as I say, these ten days ; and am heartily glad 
that my sitting time is over. The likeness is so strong, that 
when my friends enter the room where the picture is, they 
start, astonished to see me where they know I am not." 

"Abbot is painting' me so true, 
Tliiit (trust me) you would stare, 
xVnd hardly know, at the first view, 
If I were here, or there." 

18* 



210 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton, instead of be- 
ing here, to contemplate this prodigy of art, which, therefore, 
you can never see, for it goes to London next Monday to be 
suspended awhile at Abbot's, and then proceeds to Norfolk, 
where it will be suspended for ever." 



i 



( 211 ) 



CHAPTER XVI. 



Journey to Eartham— Incidents of it — Safe amval — description 
of its beauties — Employment there — Reply to a letter from 
Mr. Hurdis, on the death of his sister — State of Coivper''s 
mind at Eartham — His great attention to Mrs. Unwin — Re- 
tw~n to Weston — Interview with General Cowper — Safe arri- 
val at their beloved retreat — Tlolence of his depressive malady 
— Regrets the loss of his studious habit — Ineffectual efforts to 
obtain it — Warmth of his affection for Mr. Hayley — Dread 
of January — Prepares for a second edition of Homer — Com- 
mences luriting notes upon it— Labour it occasioned him — His 
close application — Continuance of his depression — -Judicious 
consolatory advice he gives to his friends — Letter to Rev. J. 
Johnson on his taking orders — .Pleasure it afforded him to 
find that his relative entered upon the tvork ivith suitable feel- 
ings — .Reply to Mr. Hayley respect i)ig a joint literary under- 
taking. 

Cowper and Mrs. Unwin set out for Eartham in the begin- 
ning of August, 1792. It pleased God to conduct them thi- 
ther in safety ; and though considerably fatigued with their 
journey, they were much less so than they had anticipated. 
Cowper's letters to his friends after his arrival, describe his 
feelings on the occasion, in a manner the most pleasing ; — 
" Here we are, at Eartham, in the most elegant mansion that 
I have ever inhabited, and surrounded by the most beautiful 
pleasure-grounds that I have ever seen ; but which, dissipa- 
ted as my powers of thought are at present, I will not under- 
take to describe. It shall suffice me to say that they occupy 
three sides of a hill, which in Buckinghamshire might well 
pass for a mountain, and from the summit of which is beheld 
a most magnificent landscape, bounded by the sea, and in one 
part by the Isle of Wight, which may also be seen plainly 
from the window of the library, in which I am writing. It 
pleased God to carry us both through the journey with far 
less difficulty and inconvenience than I expected ; I began it 
indeed with a thousand fears, and when we arrived the first 
evening at Barnet, found myself oppressed in spirit to a de- 
gree that could hardly be exceeded. I saw Mrs. Unwin 



212 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWI'ER. 

weary, as well she might be, and heard such noises, both 
within the house and without, that I concluded she would 
get no rest. But I was mercifully disappointed. She rest- 
ed, thoug-h not well, yet sufficiently. Here we found our 
friend Rose, who had walked frorn his house in Chancery- 
lane, to meet us, and to greet us with his best wishes. At 
Kingston, where we dined, the second day, I found my old 
and much valued friend. General Cowper, whom I had not 
seen for thirty years, and but for this journey should never 
have seen again ; when we arrived at Ripley, where we slept 
the second night, we were both in a better conditiou of body 
and of mind, than on the day preceding. Here we found a 
quiet inn, that housed, as it happened, that night, no compa- 
ny but ourselves ; we slept well and rose perfectly refreshed, 
and except some terrors that I felt at passing over the »Sus- 
sex Hills at moonlight, met with little to complain of, till we 
arrived about ten o'clock, at Eartham. Here we are as hap- 
py as it is in the power of earthly good to make us. It is 
almost a paradise in which we dwell ; and our reception has 
been the kindest that it was possible for friendship and hos- 
pitality to contrive." 

While at Eartham, Cowper and Mr. Hayley employed 
the morning hours that they could bestow upon books, in re- 
vising and correcting Cowper's translation of Milton's Latin 
and Italian poems. In the afternoon they occasionally amus- 
ed themselves by forming together a rapid metrical version 
of Andreini's'Adamo. Cowper's tender solicitude for Mrs. 
Unwin, however, rendered it impossible for them to be very 
attentive to these studies. Adverting to the anxiety of Cowper 
respecting Mrs. Unwin, Mr. Hayley thus writes : — " I have 
myself no language sufficiently strong or sufficiently tender, to 
express m)'^ just admiration of that angelic, compassionate 
sensibility with which Cowper watched over his aged inva- 
lid. With the most singular and most exemplary tenderness 
of attention, he incessantly laboured to counteract every in- 
firmity, bodily and mental, with which sickness and age had 
conspired to load the interesting guardian of his afflicted 
life." 

Cowper had been at Eartham but a few days, when he re- 
ceived a letter from his friend, Mr. Hurdis, informing him of 
the loss he had sustained by the death of a beloved sister. 
His compassionate heart immediately prompted him to write 
the following reply : — " Your kind, but very affecting letter, 
found me not at Weston, to which place it was directed, but 
in a bower of mj"^ friend Hayley's garden, at Eartham, where 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 213 

I was sitting with Mrs. Unwin. We both knew, the mo- 
ment we saw it, from whom it came ; and observing a red 
seal, both comforted ourselves that all was well at Burwash ; 
but we soon felt that we were called not to rejoice, but to 
mourn with you ; we do, indeed, sincerely mourn with you ; 
and, if it will aftbrd you any consolation to know it, you may 
be assured that every eye here has testified what our hearts 
have sutfered for you. Your loss is great, and your disposi- 
tion, I perceive, such as exposes you to feel the whole weight 
of it. I will not add to your sorrow by a vain attempt to as- 
suage it; your own good sense, and the piety of your princi- 
ples, will, of course, suggest to you the most powerful mo- 
tives of acquiescence in the will of God. You will be sure 
to recollect, that the stroke, severe as it is, is not the stroke 
of an enemy, but of a Friend and a Father ; and will find, I 
trust, hereafter, that, like a Father, he has done you good by 
it. Thousands have been able to say, and myself as loud as 
any of them, it has been good for me that I have been afflict- 
ed ; but time is necessary to work us to this persuasion ; and 
in due time it will, no doubt, be yours." 

The following extracts from letters to Lady Hesketh, dated 
Eartham, describe his feelings while he remained there: — 
" I know not how it is, my dearest cousin, but in a new 
scene like this, surrounded by strange objects, I find my pow- 
ers of thinking dissipated to a degree, that makes it diffi- 
cult for me even to write a letter, and even a letter to you ; 
but such a letter as I can, I will, and I have the fairest chance 
to succeed this morning; Hayley, Romney, and Hayley's 
son, being all gone to the sea for bathing. The sea, you 
must know, is nine miles off, so that, unless stupidity pre- 
vent, I shall have opportunity to write, not only to you, 
but to poor Hurdis also, who is broken-hearted for the loss 
of his favourite sister, lately dead. 1 am, without the least 
dissimulation, in good health ; my spirits are about as good 
as you have ever seen them; and if increase of appetite, and 
a double portion of sleep, be advantageous, such are the be- 
nefits I have received from this migration. As to that gloomi- 
ness of mind which I have felt these twenty years, it cleaves 
to me even here ; and could I be translated to paradise, un- 
less I left my body behind me, would cleave to me even 
there also. It is my companion for life, and nothing will 
ever divorce us. Mrs. Unwin is evidently the better for her 
jaunt, though by no means as she was before her last attack, 
still wanting help Avhen she would rise from her seat, and a 
support in walking, but she is able to take more exercise 



214 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

than when at home, and move with rather a less tottering 
step. God knows what he designs for me ; but when I see 
those who are dearer to me than myself, distempered and en- 
feebled, and myself as strong as in the days of my youth, 
I tremble for the solitude in which a few years may place 
me." 

"This is, as I have already told you, a delightful place ; 
more beautiful scenery I have never beheld, nor expect to 
behold ; but the charms of it, uncommon as they are, have 
not, in the least, alienated my affections from Weston. The 
genius of that place suits me better ; it has an air of snug 
concealment, in which a disposition like mine feels peculiar- 
ly gratified ; whereas here, I see from every window woods 
like forests, and hills like mountains, a wilderness in short, 
that rather increases my natural melancholy, and which, 
were it not for the agreeables I find within, would convince 
me that mere change of place can avail but little." 

On the 17th September, 1792, Cowper, and Mrs. Unwin, 
left Eartham, for their beloved retreat at Weston. Their 
parting interview with their friends at Eartham, who had 
heaped upon them everything that the most affectionate kind- 
ness could invent, was deeply interesting to all parties, but 
particularly affecting to the sensitive mind of Cowper. Ac- 
cording to a previous arrangement, the poet and Mrs. Unwin 
dined, and spent the day with General Cowper, at Kingston, 
who had come there on purpose to have the pleasure of Cow- 
per's company, probably for the last time. A recollection of 
this so powerfully affected the poet's mind, that the pleasure 
of the interview was hardly greater than the pain he felt at 
parting with his venerable and beloved kinsman. The pecu- 
liar and burdened state of Cowper's mind respecting this 
visit, he thus describes :■ — " The struggles that I had with my 
own spirit, labouring, as I did, under the most dreadful de- 
jection, are never to be told. I would have given the world 
to have been excused. I went, however, and carried my 
point against myself, with a heart riven asunder. I have 
reason for all this anxiety, which I cannot relate now ; the 
visit, however, passed off well, and I returned with a lighter 
heart than I have known since my departure from Eartham, 
and we both enjoyed a good night's rest afterwards." 

The good providence of God conducted these interesting 
travellers in safety to their home, where they arrived in the 
evening of the second day after they set out from Eartham. 
The unusual excitement occasioned by so long a journey, 
and by such a profusion of interesting objects, would, in or- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 215 

dinary cases, and in minds of almost any form, who had been 
so longr confined to one spot, be very likely to be succeeded 
by considerable depression. Such was, however, much 
more likely to be the case on a mind like Cowper's. Accord- 
ingly we find, that when he arrived at Weston, he was, for a 
considerable time, subject to an unusual degree of depres- 
sion. The following extracts from his letters to his friend 
Hayle)', describe the state of his mind, and show how much 
he was then under the influence of his depressive malady : — 
" Chaos, himself, even the chaos of Milton, is not surround- 
ed with more confusion, nor has a mind more completely in a 
hubbub, than I experience at the present moment. A bad 
night, succeeded by an east wind, and a sky all in sables, 
have such an effect on my spirits, that if I did not consult 
my own comfort more than yours, I should not write to-day, 
for I shall not entertain you much : yet your letter, though 
containing no very pleasant tidings, has afforded me some 
relief. It tells me, indeed, that you have been dispirited 
yourself; all tliis grieves me, but then there is warmth of 
heart, and a kindness in it, that do me good. I will endea- 
vour not to repaj^ you in notes of sorrow and despondence, 
though all my sprightly chords seem broken. In truth, one 
day excepted, I have not seen the day when I have been 
cheerful since I left you. My spirits, I think, are almost 
constantly lower than they were ; the approach of winter is 
perhaps the cause, and if it be, I have nothing better to ex- 
pect for a long time to come. I began a long letter to you 
yesterday, and proceeded through two sides of the sheet, but 
so much of my nervous fever found its way into it, that, look- 
ing over it this morning, I determined not to send it. Your 
wishes to disperse my melancholy would, I am sure, prevail, 
did that event depend on the warmth and sincerity with 
which you frame them ; but it has baflled both wishes and 
prayers, and those the most fervent that could be made, so 
many years, that the case seems hopeless." 

These frequent, and, indeed, almost continual attacks of 
depression, combined with the attention that Cowper paid to 
promote the comfort, and facilitate the recovery of Mrs. Un- 
win, prevented him entirely from persevering in his literary 
undertaking. In his letters he makes this a subject of par- 
ticular regret. The benefits he had derived from his regular 
habits of study during his translation of Homer, made him 
anxious to be again regularly employed. To his friend Mr. 
Rose he thus describes the state of his mind in this respect: 
-" — " I wish that I were as industrious, and as much occupied 



216 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

as you, though in a different way, but it is not so with me. 
Mrs. Unwin's g-reat debility is of itself a hinderance, such as 
would effectually disable me. Till she can work and read, 
and fill up her time as usual, (all which is at present entirely 
out of her power) I may now and then find time to write a 
letter, but I shall write nothing more. I cannot sit, with my 
pen in my hand, and my books before me, while she is in 
effect, in solitude, silent, and looking at the fire. To this 
hinderance that other has been added, of which you are aware, 
a want of spirits, such as I have never known when I was 
not absolutely laid by, since I commenced an author. How 
long I shall be continued in these uncomfortable circum- 
stances is known only to Him, who, as he will, disposes of 
us all." 

" I may yet be able, perhaps, to prepare the first book of 
Paradise Lost for the press, before it will be wanted, and 
Johnson himself seems to think there will be no haste for the 
second. But poetry is my favourite employment, and my 
poetical operations are in the meantime suspended ; for while 
a work, to which I have bound myself, remains unaccom- 
plished, I can do nothing else. Johnson's plan of prefixing 
my phiz to the edition of my poems is by no means a pleasant 
one to me, and so I told him in a letter I sent him from Ear- 
tham, in which I assured him that my objections to it would 
not be easily surmounted. But, if you judge that it may 
really have an effect in advancing the sale, I would not be so 
squeamish as to suflier the spirit of prudery to prevail on me 
to his disadvantage. Somebody told an author, I forget whom, 
that there was more vanity in refusing his picture than in 
granting it, on which he instantly complied. I do not per- 
fectly feel all the force of the argument, but it shall content 
me that he did." 

To his kinsman he writes : — " The successor of the clerk 
defunct, for whom I used to write, arrived here this morning, 
with a recommendatory letter from Joe Rye, and an humble 
petition of his own, entreating me to assist him, as I had 
assisted his predecessor. I have undertaken the service, 
althougli with no little reluctance, being involved in many 
arrears on other subjects, and very little dependance at pre- 
sent on my ability to write at all. I proceed exactly as when 
you were here — a letter now and then before breakfast, and 
the rest of my time all holiday, if holiday it may be called, 
that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and '■forecasting 
the fashion of uncertain evils.'' The fever on my spirits has 
harassed me much, and I have never had so good a night, 



\A! 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 217 

nor so quiet a rising, since you went, as on this very morn- 
ing. A relief that I account particularly seasonable and pro- 
pitious, because I had, in my intentions, devoted this morning 
to you, and could not have fulfilled those intentions, had I 
been as spiritless as I generally am. I am glad that Johnson 
is in no haste for Milton, for I seem myself not likely to ad- 
dress myself presently to that concern with any prospect of 
success, yet something, now and then, like a secret whisper, 
assures and encourages me that it will yet be done." 

To his friend Hayley he thus writes : — " Yesterday was a 
day of assigiiation with myself, a day of which I had said, 
some days before it came, when that day comes, I will, if 
possible, begin my dissertations. Accordingly, when it came, 
I prepared to do so ; filled a letter case with fresh paper, fur- 
nished myself with a pretty good pen, and replenished my 
ink bottle ; but partly from one cause, and partly from another, 
chiefly, however, from distress and dejection, after writing 
and obliterating about six lines, in the composition of which 
I spent near an hour, I was obliged to relinquish the attempt. 
An attempt so unsuccessful could have no other effect than 
to dishearten me, and it has had that effect to such a degree, 
that I know not when I shall find courage to make another. 
At present I shall certainly abstain from it, since I cannot 
well afford to expose myself to the danger of a fresh mortifi- 
cation." 

Adverting to this subject, he thus again writes to Mr. Hay- 
ley, 25 Nov. 1792. — " How shall I thank you enough for 
the interest you take in my future Miltonic labours, and the 
assistance you promise me in the performance of them 1 I 
will some time or other, if I live, and live a poet, acknow- 
ledge your friendship in some of my best verses, the most 
suitable return one poet can make to another; in the mean 
time, I love you, and am sensible of all your kindness. You 
wish me warm in my work, and I ardently wish the same, 
but when I shall be so, God only knows. My melancholy, 
which seemed a little alleviated for a few days, has gathered 
about me again, with as black a cloud as ever; the conse- 
quence is, absolute incapacity to begin. Yet I purpose, in 
a day or two, to make another attempt, to which, however, 
I shall address myself with fear and trembling, like a man, 
who having sprained his wrist, dreads to use it. I have not, 
indeed, like such a man, injured myself by any extraordinary 
exertion, but seem as much enfeebled as if I had. The con- 
sciousness that there is so much to do, and nothing done, is 
a burden I am not able to bear. Milton especially is my 
19 



218 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

grievance, and I might almost as well be haunted by his 
ghost, as goaded with continual reproaches for neglecting 
him. 1 will, therefore, begin ; I will do my best, and if, after 
all, that best prove good for nothing, I will even send the 
notes, worthless as they are, that I have already ; a measure 
very disagreeable to myself, and to which nothing but neces- 
sity shall compel me," 

To his friend, Mr. Newton, who had ventured to express 
his apprehensions lest his Miltonic labours should become 
too severe, he thus writes, 9 Dec. 1792. — " You need not be 
uneasy on the subject of Milton; I shall not find that labour 
too heavy for me, if I have health and leisure. The season 
of the year is unfavourable to me respecting the former, and 
Mrs. Unwin's present weakness allows me less of the latter 
than the occasion seems to call for. But the business is in 
no haste ; the artists employed to furnish the em.bellishments 
are not likely to be very expeditious ; and a small portion only 
of the work will be wanted from me at once, for the intention 
is, to deal it out to the public piece-meal. I am, therefore, 
under no great anxiety on that account. It is not, indeed, an 
employment that I should have chosen for myself, because 
poetry pleases and amuses me n;ore, and would cost me less 
labour, properly so called. All this I felt before I engaged 
with Johnson, and did, in the first instance, actually decline 
the service, but he was urgent, and at last I suffered myself 
to be persuaded. The season of the year, as I have already 
said, is particularly adverse to me ; yet not in itself, perhaps, 
more adverse than any other; but the approach of it always 
reminds me of the same season in the dreadful seventy-three, 
and the more dreadful eighty-six. I cannot help terrifying 
myself with doleful misgivings and apprehensions; nor is 
the enemy negligent to seize all the advantage that the occa- 
sion gives him. Thus, hearing much from him, and having 
little or no sensible support from God, I suffer inexpressible 
things till January is over. And even then, whether increas- 
ing years have made me more liable to it, or despair, the 
longer it lasts, grows naturally darker, I fuid myself more 
inclined to melancholy than I was a few years since. God 
only knows where this will end ; but Avhere it is likely to 
end, unless he interpose powerfully in my favour, all may 
know." 

On another occasion, to the same correspondent, he again 
writes : — " Oh for the day when your expectations of my 
final deliverance shall be verified ! At present it seems very ■ 
remote, so distant, indeed, that hardly the faintest streak of 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 219 

it is visible in my horizon. The glimpse with which I was 
favoured about a month ago, has never been repeated, but the 
depression of my spirits has. The future appears as gloomy 
as ever, and I seem to myself to be scrambling always in the 
dark, among rocks and precipices, without a guide, but with 
an enemy ever at my heels, prepared to push me headlong. 
Thus I have spent twenty years, but thus I shall not spend 
twenty years more : long before that period arrives, the 
grand question concerning my everlasting weal or woe will 
be decided." 

To a lady, with whom he occasionally corresponded, he 
thus discloses his feelings : — " I would give you consolation, 
madam, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by 
a great dearth of it in my own experience. I too often seek, 
but cannot find it. I know, however, there are seasons when, 
look which way we will, we see the same dismal gloom en- 
veloping all objects. This is itself an affliction ; and the 
worse, because it makes us think ourselves more unhappy 
than we are. I was struck by an expression in your letter to 
Hayley, where you say that you ' will endeavour to take an 
interest in green leaves again.' This seems the sound of my 
own voice reflected to me from a distance ; I have so often 
had the same thought and desire. A day scarcely passes, at 
this season of the year, when I do not contemplate the trees 
so soon to be stript, and say, ' perhaps I shall never see you 
clothed again.' Every year, as it passes, makes this expec- 
tation more reasonable: and the year with me cannot be very 
distant, when the event will verify it. Well, may God grant 
us a good hope of amving, in due time, where the leaves 
never fall, and all will be right!" 

Notwithstanding his gloomy forebodings, Cowper escaped 
any very severe attack of depression, in his dreaded month 
of the ensuing January, and as the spring advanced he be- 
came as busily engaged as he had ever been, partly in his 
Miltonic labours, but chiefly in preparing materials for a 
second edition of Homer. He had long been carefully revis- 
ing the work, and had judiciously availed himself of the re- 
marks of his friends, as well as of the criticisms of the re- 
viewers. As soon, therefore, as it was determined to republish 
it, he made the best use of these materials, and in a few 
weeks prepared the work a second time for the press, in its 
new and much improved form. It was, however, thought 
advisable, in the second edition, to publish notes, for the as- 
sistance of unlearned readers ; and the labour and research 
required to furnish these, occasioned Cowper much severe 



220 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

application, as the following extracts will show : — 19 March, 
1793. " I am so busy every morning before breakfast, strut- 
ting and stalking in Homeric stilts, that you must account it 
an instance of marvellous grace and favour that I write even 
to you. Sometimes I am seriously almost crazed with the 
multiplicity of matters before me, and the little or no time 
that I have for them ; and sometimes I repose myself after 
the fatigue of that distraction, on the pillow of despair ; a 
pillow which has often served me in time of need, and is be- 
come, by frequent use, if not very comfortable, at least, con- 
venient. So reposed, I laugh at the world and say, — Yes, 
you may gape, and expect both Homer and Milton from me, 
but I '11 be hanged if ever you get them. In Homer, how- 
ever, you must know, I am advanced as far as the fifteenth 
book of the Iliad, leaving nothing behind that can reason- 
ably offend the most fastidious ; and I design him for a new 
dress as soon as possible, for a reason which any poet may 
guess if he will but thrust his hand into his pocket. My time, 
therefore, the little that I have, is now so entirely engrossed 
by Homer, that I have, at this time, a bundle of unanswered 
letters by me, and letters likely to be so. Thou knowest, I 
dare say, what it is to have a head weary with thinking ; 
mine is so fatigued by breakfast time, three days out of four, 
that I am utterly incapable of sitting down to my desk again 
for any purpose whatever. I rise at six every morning, and 
fag till near eleven, when I breakfast ; the consequence is, 
that I am so exhausted as not to be able to write when the 
opportunity offers. You will say, breakfast before you work, 
and then your work will not fatigue you. I answer, perhaps 
I might, and your counsel would probably prove beneficial ; 
but I cannot spare a moment for eating in the eariy part of 
the morning, having no other time for study ; all this time is 
constantly given to Homer, not to correcting and amending 
him, for that is all over, but in writing notes. Johnson has 
expressed a wish for some, that the unlearned may be a little 
illuminated concerning classical story, and the mythology of 
the ancients ; and his behaviour to me has been so liberal, 
that I can refuse him nothing. Poking into the old Greek 
commentators, however, blinds me. But it is no matter, I 
am the more like Homer. I avail myself of Clarke's excel- 
lent annotations, from which I select such as I think likely 
to be useful, or that recommend themselves by the amuse- 
ment they afford, of which sorts there are not a few. — Barnes 
also affords me some of both kinds, but not so many, his 
notes being chiefly paraphrastical or grammatical. My only 



I 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 221 

fear is, lest between them both, I should make my work too 
voluminous." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, written 12th June, 1793, Cow- 
per thus expresses himself respectingr the state of his own 
mind, and that of Mrs. Unwin.' " You promise to be con- 
tented with a short line, and a short one you must have, hur- 
ried over in the little interval I have happened to find, be- 
tween the conclusion of my morning task and breakfast. 
Study has this good effect, at least : it makes me an early 
riser, a wholesome practice from which I have never swerved 
since March. The scanty opportunity I have, I shall employ 
in telling you what you principally wish to be told, the 
present state of mine and Mrs. Unwin's health. In her I 
cannot perceive any alteration for the better ; and must be 
satisfied, I believe, as indeed I have great reason to be, if 
she does not alter for the worse. She uses the orchard-walk 
daily, but always supported between two, and is still unable 
to employ herself as formerly. But she is cheerful, seldom 
in much pain, and has always strong confidence in the mercy 
and faithfulness of God. As to myself, I have invariably the 
same song to sing — well in body, but sick in spirit ; sick, 
nigh unto death. 

' Seasons return, but not to me returns 
God, or the sweet approach of heavenly day, 
Or sig'ht of cheering- truth, or pardon seal'd, 
Or joy, or hope, or Jesus' face divine, 
But clouds or .' 

I could easily set my complaint to Milton's tone, and accom- 
pany him through the whole passage on the subject of a 
blindness more deplorable than his ; but time fails me." 

During this year, several of Cowper's correspondents were 
visited either with domestic affliction, or with painful be- 
reavements. On such occasions, all the sensibility and sym- 
pathy of his peculiarly tender mind never failed to be called 
into lively exercise. The deep depression of his own mind, 
did not deter him from attempting at least, to alleviate the 
distress of others. To Mr. Hayley, who had recently lost a 
fi-iend, he thus writes : — " 1 truly sympathize with you under 
your weight of sorrow, for the loss of our good Samaritan. 
But be not broken-hearted my friend ; remember, the loss of 
those we love is the condition on which we live ourselves ; 
and that he who chooses his friends wisely, from among the 
excellent of the earth, has a sure ground to hope concerning 
them when they die, that a merciful God will make them far 
19* 



222 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

happier than they could be here, and that we shall join them 
soon again : this is solid comfort, could we but avail ourselves 
of it, but I confess the difficulty of doing so always. Sorrow 
is like the deaf adder, that hears not the voice of the charmer, 
charm he never so wisely ; and I feel so myself for the death 
of Austen, that my own chief consolation is, that I had never 
seen him. Live yourself, I beseech you, for I have seen so 
much of you, that I can by no means spare you, and I will 
live as long as it shall please God to permit. I know you 
set some value upon me, therefore let that promise comfort 
you, and give us not reason to say, like David's servants, 
' We know that it would have pleased thee more if all we 
had died, than this one, for whom thou art inconsolable.' You 
have still Romney, and Carwardine, and Grey, and me, and 
my poor Mary, and I know not how many beside ; as many 
I suppose as ever had an opportunity of spending a day with 
you. He who has the most friends, must necessarily lose 
the most ; and he whose friends are numerous as yours, may 
the better spare a part of them. It is a changing transient 
scene : yet a little while, and this poor dream of life will be 
over with all of us. The living, and they who live unhappy, 
they are indeed the subjects of sorrow." 

To his esteemed friend. Rev. Mr. Hurdis, who, as above 
related, had lost one beloved sister, and was in great danger 
of losing another, he thus writes, June, 1793: "I seize a 
passing moment, merely to say that I feel for your distresses, 
and sincerely pity you, and I shall be happy to learn from 
your next that your sister's amendment has superseded the 
necessity you feared of a journey to London. Your candid 
account that your afflictions have broken your spirits and 
temper, I can perfectly understand, having laboured much ia 
that fire myself, and perhaps more than any man. It is in 
such a school that we must learn, if we ever truly learn it, 
the natural depravity of the human heart, and of our own in 
particular, together with' the consequence that necessarily fol- 
lows such ■wretched premises; our indispensable need of the 
atonement, and our inexpressible obligations to Him who 
made it. This reflection cannot escape a thinking mind, 
looking back on those ebullitions of fretfulness and impatience 
to which it has yielded in a season of great affliction." 

Early in the spring of this year, 1793, Cowper's esteemed 
relative. Rev. John Johnson, after much mature and solemn 
deliberation, had resolved to take holy orders. Cowper had 
always regarded him with the most paternal affection, and had 
wished that he should enter upon the important office of a 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



223 



christian minister, with a high sense of the greatness of the 
work, and with suitable qualifications for a proper discharge 
of its solemn duties. In accordance with these wishes, when 
Mr. Johnson, in a previous year, had relinquished his inten- 
tions of taking orders at that time, Cowper had thus address- 
ed him. "My dearest of all Johnnys, I am not sorry that 
your ordination is postponed. A year's learning and wisdom, 
added to your present stock, will not be more than enough to 
satisfy the demands of your function. Neither am I sorry 
that you find it difficult to fix your thoughts to the serious point 
at all times. It proves, at least, that you attempt, and wish 
to do it, and these are good symptoms. Woe to those who 
enter on the ministry of the gospel without having previously 
asked, at least from God, a mind and spirit suited to their 
occupation, and whose experience never differs from itself, 
because they are always alike vain, light, and inconsiderate. 
It is therefore matter of great joy to me to hear you complain 
of levity, as it indicates the existence of anxiety of mind to be 
freed from it." 

The gratification it afforded Cowper to find that his be- 
loved relative entered into the ministry with scriptural views 
and feelings, is thus expressed: "What you say of your 
determined purpose, with God's help, to take up the cross, 
and despise the shame, gives us both great pleasure: in our 
pedigree is found one, at least, who did it before you. Do you 
the like, and you will meet him in heaven, as sure as the 
scripture is the word of God. The quarrel that the world has 
with evangelic men and doctrines, they would have with a 
host of angels in human form, for it is the quarrel of owls with 
sunshine; of ignorance with divine illumination. The Bishop 
of Norwich has won my heart by his kind and liberal beha- 
viour to you, and if I knew him I would tell him so. I am 
glad that your auditors find your voice strong, and your ut- 
terance distinct ; glad, too, that your doctrine has hitherto 
made you no enemies. You have a gracious Master, who, 
it seems, will not suffer you to see war in the beginning. It 
will be a wonder, however, if you do not find out, sooner or 
later, that sore place in every heart, which can ill endure the 
touch of apostolic doctrine. Somebody Avill smart in his con- 
science, and you will hear of it. I say not this to terrify you, 
but to prepare you for what is likely to happen, and which, 
troublesome as it may prove, is yet devoutly to be wished; 
for, in general, there is little good done by preachers till the 
world begins to abuse them. But understand me right. I 
do not mean that you should give them unnecessary provoca- 



224 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

tion, by scolding- and railing at them, as some, more zealous 
than wise, are apt to do. That were to deserve their anger. 
No ; there is no need of it. The self-abasing doctrines of the 
gospel will, of themselves, create you enemies ; but remem- 
ber this for your comfort — they will also, in due time, trans- 
form them into friends, and make them love you' as if they 
were your own children. God give you many such ; as, if 
you are faithful to his cause I trust he will." 

About this time Mr. Hayley appears to have applied to 
Cowper for his assistance, in a joint literary undertaking of 
some magnitude, with himself and two other distinguished 
literary characters. Anxious, however, as Cowper was on 
all occasions to oblige his friend, he could not give his con- 
sent to this measure. His reply, given partly in poetry and 
partly in prose, while it shows the peculiar state of his mind, 
exhibits, at the same time, so much of that amiable modesty 
by which he was always distinguished, that it cannot be read 
without interest. 

" Dear architect of fine chateaux in air. 
Worthier to stand for ever if they could, 
Than any built of stone, or yet of wood. 
For back of royal elephant to bear ! 
Oh, for permission from the skies to share, 
Much to my own, though little to thy good. 
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood !) 
A partnership of literary ware ! 
But I am bankrupt now, and doomed henceforth 
To drudge in descant dry, or other's lays — 
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalled'd worth ! 
But what is commentator's happiest praise ? 
That he has furnished lights for other eyes, 
Which they who need them use, and then despise." 

" What remains for me to say on this subject, my dear bro- 
ther, I will say in prose. There are other impediments to 
the plan you propose, which I could not comprise within the 
bounds of a sonnet. My poor Mary's infirm condition makes 
it impossible for me, at present, to engage in a work such as 
you propose. My thoughts are not sufficiently free ; nor have 
I, nor can I, by any means find opportunity; added to it 
comes a difficulty which, though you are not at all aware of it, 
presents itself to me under a most forbidding appearance. 
Can you guess it] No, not you : neither, perhfips, will you 
be able to imagine that such a difficulty can possibly exist. 
If your hair begins to bristle, stroke it down again; for there 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 225 

is no need why it should erect itself. It concerns me, not 
you. I know myself too well not to know that I am nobody 
in verse, unless in a corner and alone, and unconnected in my 
operations. This is not owing to want of love to you, my 
brother, or in the most consummate confidence in you — I have 
both in a degree that has not been exceeded in the experience 
of any friend you have or ever had. But I am so made up — 
I will not enter into a philosophical analysis of my strange 
constitution, in order to detect the true cause of the evil; 
but, on a general view of the matter, I suspect that it pro- 
ceeds from that shyness which has been my effectual and al- 
most total hinderance on many other important occasions, and 
which I should feel, I well know, on this, to a degree that 
would perfectly cripple me. No ! I shall neither do, nor at- 
tempt, anj^thing of consequence more, unless my poor Mary get 
better : nor even then, unless it should please God to give 
me another nature. I could not thus act in concert with any 
man, not even with my own father or brother, were they^ now 
alive ! Small game must serve me at present, and till I have 
done with Homer and Milton. The utmost that I aspire to, 
and Heaven knows with how feeble a hope, is to write, at 
some future and better opportunity, when my hands are free, 
The Four Ages. Thus I have opened my heart unto thee." 
On another occasion he thus plaintively WTites : — " I find that 
much study fatigues me, which is a proof that I am some- 
what stricken in years. Certain it is that, ten or sixteen 
years ago, I could have done as much, and did actually do 
much more, without suffering the least fatigue, than I can 
possibly accomplish now. How insensibly old age steals on 
us, and how often it is actually arrived before we suspect it ! 
Accident alone ; some occurrence that suggests a comparison 
of our former with our present selves, affords the discovery. 
Well, it is always good to be undeceived, especially in an 
article of such importance." 

To a person less intimately acquainted with Cowper than 
INIr. Hayley was, the above reply would have been amply 
sufficient to have prevented him from making any further ap- 
plication of a similar nature. He, however, was not to be 
thus easily diverted from his purpose. Of the talents of 
Cowper he had justly formed the highest opinion, and had 
wisely concluded, that if they could only be again brought 
fairly and fully into exercise, in the composition of original 
poetry, the result would be everything that could be wished. 
Immediately, therefore, on receiving the above letter, he prof- 
fered Cowper his own assistance, and the assistance of two 



226 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

other esteemed friends, in composing the projected poem, 
"The Four Ages," and proposed that it should be their joint 
production. His principal object was, unquestionably, to in- 
duce Cowper to employ his unrivalled talents. The plea- 
sure he anticipated in having such a coadjutor, gratifying as 
it must have been to his feelings, was only a secondary con- 
sideration. Averse as Cowper was to the former proposal, he 
immediately consented to this, and the following extract will 
show what were his feelings on the occasion : — " I am in 
haste to tell you how much I am delighted with your projected 
quadruple alliance, and to assure you that, if it please God to 
afford me health, spirits, ability and leisure, I will not fail to 
devote them all to the production of my quota in -' The Four 
Ages." You are very kind to humour me as you do, and 
had need be a little touched yourself with all my oddities, 
that you may know how to administer to mine. All whom 
I love do so, and I believe it to be impossible to love hear- 
tily those who do not. People must not do me good in their 
way, but in my own, and then they do me good indeed. My 
pride, my ambition, and my friendship for you, and the inte- 
rest I take in my own dear self, will all be consulted and 
gratified, by an arm-in-arm appearance with you in public ; 
and I shall work with more zeal and assiduity at Homer; 
and when Homer is finished, at Milton, with the prospect of 
such a coalition before me. I am at this moment, with all 
the imprudence natural to poets, expending nobody knows 
what, in embellishing my premises, or rather the premises 
of my neighbour Courtenay, which is more poetical still. 
Your project, therefore, is most opportune, as any project 
must needs be, that has so direct a tendency to put money 
into the pocket of one so likely to want it." 

"Ah, brother poet! send me of your shade. 
And bid the zephyr's hasten to my aid 4 
Or, like a worm unearthed at noon, I go. 
Despatched by sunshine to the shades below." 

It is deeply to be regretted that the pleasing anticipations 
of both Mr. Hayley and Cowper, respecting this joint pro- 
duction, were never realized. Had this poem been written, 
it would, in all probability, have been equal to any that had 
ever been published. Cowper was, however, at this time, 
rapidly sinking into that deep and settled melancholy which 
it now becomes our painful duty to relate, and in which he 
continued during the remaining period of his life, notwith- 
standing the united and indefatigable exertions of his friends 
to afford him relief. 



( 227 ) 



CHAPTER XVII. 



Mr. Hayley's second visit to Weston — Finds Cowper busily en- 
gaged — Great apprehensions respecting him — 3Trs. Univin''s 
increasing infirmities — Coivper^s feelings on account of it- 
Vigour of his own mind at this period — Severe attack of de- 
pression — Deplorable condition to which he was now reduced 
— Management of his affairs kindly undertaken by Lady 
Hesketh — Mr. Hayley^s anxieties respecting him — Is invited 
by Mr. Greathead to pay Cowper another visit — Complies 
with the invitation — Arrival at Weston — How he is received 
by Cowper — Inefficiency of the means employed to re7nove his 
depression — Handsome pension alloived him by his Majesty — 
His removal from Weston to Norfolk, under the care of the 
Rev. J. Johnson — Death of Mrs. Unwin — How it affected 
Cowper — Recovers sufficiently to resume his application to 
Homer — Finishes his notes — Letter to Lady Hesketh descrip- 
tive of his feelings — Composes some original poems — Trans- 
lates some of Gay''s fables into Latin — Rapid decay of his 
strength — Last illness — Death. 

In the beginning of November, 1793, Mr. Hayley made 
Kis second visit to Weston. He found Cowper in the enjoy- 
ment of apparent health ; and though incessantly employed, 
either on Homer or Milton, pleasing himself with the society 
of his young kinsman, from Norfolk, and his esteemed friend 
Mr. Rose, who had arrived from the seat of Lord Spencer, in 
Northamptonshire, with an invitation from his lordship to 
Cowper and his guests, to pay him a visit. All Cowper's 
friends strongly recommended him to avail himself of this 
mark of respect from an accomplished nobleman whom he 
cordially respected. Their entreaties, however, were entirely 
in vain; his constitutional shyness again prevailed, and he 
commissioned his friends, Rose and Hayley, to make an apolo- 
gy to his Lordship for declining so honourable an invitation. 

The manner in which Cowper employed his time during 
the continuance of his friend Mr. Hayley at Weston, is 
pleasingly described in the following extract from a letter to 
Mrs. Courtenay, 4th Nov. 1793: — "I am a most busy man, 
busy to a degree that sometimes half distracts me; but if 



228 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

complete distraction be occasioned by having the thoughts 
too much and too long attached to any single point, I am in 
no danger of it, with such perpetual whirl are mine whisked 
about from one subject to another. When two poets meet, 
there are fine doings, I can assure you. My ' Homer' finds 
work for Hayley, and his ' Life of Milton' work for me; so 
that we are neither of us one moment idle. Poor Mrs. Unwin 
in the mean time sits quiet in her corner, occasionally laugh- 
ing at us both, and not seldom interrupting us with some 
question or remark, for which she is continually rewarded by 
me with a ' hush !' Bless yourself, my dear Catherina, that 
you are not connected with a poet, especially that you have 
not two to deal with !" 

During Mr. Hayley's visit, he saw, with great concern, that 
the infirmities of Mrs. Unwin were rapidly sinking her into 
a state of the most pitiable imbecility. Unable any longer 
to watch over the tender health of him whom she had 
guarded for so many years, and unwilling to relinquish her 
authority, her conduct at this period presented that painful 
spectacle, which we are occasionally called to witness, of 
declining nature seeking to retain that power which it knows 
not how to use nor how to resign. The effect of these in- 
creasing infiriuities on her whom Cowper justly regarded as 
the guardian of his life, added to apprehensions which he 
now began to feel that his increasing expenses, occasioned 
by Mrs. Unwin's protracted illness, would involve him in 
difliculties, filled him with the greatest uneasiness ; and the 
depressing influence it had upon his mind, became painfully 
evident to all his friends. So visibly was such the case, 
that Mr. Hayley felt fully persuaded that, unless some 
speedy and important change took place in Cowper's cir- 
cumstances, his tender mind would inevitably sink under the 
multiplicity of its cares. To effect this desirable object, as 
far as was in his power, he embraced the earliest opportunity, 
after leaving Weston, of having an interview with Lord 
Spencer, and of stating to him the undisguised condition of 
the afflicted poet. His lordship entered feelingly into the 
case, and shortly afterwards mentioned it to his majesty. It 
was owing to this that his majesty, some time afterwards, 
granted to Cowper such a pension as was sufficient to secure 
to him a comfortable competence for the remainder of his 
life. It is however deeply to be regretted that this seasona- 
ble and well-merited bounty was not received till the poet's . 
mind was enveloped in that midnight gloom from which it 
never afterwards wholly emerged. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEU. 229 

The increasing infirmities of Mrs. Unwin did not, in the 
slightest degree, diminish Cowper's regard for her ; on the 
contrary, they seemed rather to augment it, as the following 
beautiful poem, written about this time, will show : — 

TO MARY. 

" The twentieth year is well ni jh past 
Since first our sky was overcast, 
And would that tliis might be the last, 

My Mary ! 

Thy spirits hava a fainter glow ; 
I see thee daily weaker grow ; 
'Twas my distress that brought thee low. 

My Mary ! 

Thy needles once a shining store, 
For my sake restless heretofore ; 
Now rust disused, and shine no more. 

My Mary ! 

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same khid office tor me still. 
Thy sight now seconds not th)' will. 

My Mary ! 

But well thou play'dst the huswife's part, 
And all thy threads, with magic art. 
Have wound themselves about m)' heart. 

My Mai'y ! 

Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language uttered in a dream ; 
Yet me they charm whate'er the theme. 

My Maiy ! 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 

My Mary ! 

For could I view nor them nor thee. 
What sight worth seeing could I see ? 
The sun would rise in vain for me. 

My Mary ! 
20 



230 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. 

Partakers of thy sad decline. 
Thy hands then- little force resign, 
Yet gently prest, press gently mine, 

My Mary ! 

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, 
That now, at every step thou mov'st. 
Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st. 

My Mary ! 

And still to love, though prest with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill. 
With me is to be lovely still, 

My Mary ! 

But, ah ! by constant heed I know 
How oft the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe. 

My Mary ! 

And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past, 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last. 

My Mary ! 

Cowper retained his admirable powers in their full vigour, 
during the whole of 1793, and till the middle of January, pf 
the following year. His letters, written subsequently to 
Mr. Hayley's visit, though but few, afford unquestionable 
proofs, that his talents had not suffered the slightest diminu- 
tion. The following extract, in reply to some remarks on a 
disputed passage in his Homer, will show that his faculties 
were then unimpaired. To Mr. Hayley, 5th January, 1794, 
he writes. "If my old friend would look into my preface, 
he would find a principle laid down there which perhaps it 
would not be easy to invalidate, and which, properly attend- 
ed to, would equally secure a translation from stiffness, and 
from wildness. The principle I mean is this — ' Close, but 
not so close as to be servile ! free, but not so free as to be 
licentious ! A superstitious fidelity loses the spirit, and a 
loose deviation the sense of the translated author — a happy 
moderation in either case is the onljf possible way of preserv- 
ing both." 

" Imlac, in Rasselas, says — I forget to whom, ' You have 
convinced me that it is impossible to be a poet.' In like 
manner, I might say to his Lordship, }'^ou have convinced 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 231 

me that it is impossible to be a translator — to be one, on his 
terms at least, is, I am sure, impossible. On his terms, I 
would defy Homer himself, Vv'ere he alive, to translate the 
Paradise Lost into Greek. Yet Milton had Homer much in 
his eye when he composed that poem. Whereas, Homer 
never thought of me, or my translation. There are minutiae 
in every language, which, translated into another, would spoil 
the version. Such extreme fidelity is, in fact, unfaithful. 
Such close resemblance takes away all likeness. The ori- 
ginal is elegant, easy, natural ; the copy is clumsy, con- 
strained, and unnatural. To what is this owing T To the 
adoption of terms not congenial to your purpose, and of a 
context, such as no man writing an original would make use 
of. Homer is everything that a poet should be. A transla- 
tion of him, so made, will be everything a translation of Ho- 
mer should not be. Because it will be written in no language 
under heaven. It will be English, and it will be Greek, 
and therefore it will be neither. He is the man, whoever he 
may be, (I do not pretend to be that man myself) — he is the 
man best qualified as a translator of Homer, who has drench- 
ed, and steeped, and soaked himself in the effusions of his 
genius, till he has imbibed their colour to the bone, and who, 
when he is thus dyed, through and through, distinguishing 
what is essentially Greek, from wliat may be habited in Eng- 
lish, rejects the former, and is faithful to the latter, as far as 
the purposes of fine poetry will permit, and no farther ; this, 
I think, may be easily proved. Homer is everywhere re- 
markable for ease, dignity, energy of expression, grandeur of 
conception, and a majestic flow of numbers. If we copy him 
so closely as to make every one of these excellent properties 
of his absolutely unattainable, which will certainly be the 
effect of too close a copy, instead of translating, we murder 
him. Therefore, after all his Lordship has said, I still hold 
freedom to be an indispensable. Freedom, I mean, with re- 
spect to the expression ; freedom so limited as never to leave 
behind the matter, but at the same time indulged with a suf- 
ficient scope, to secure the spirit, and as much as possible of 
the manner; I say as much as possible, because an English 
manner must differ from a Greek one, in order to be graceful, 
and for this there is no remedy. Can an ungraceful awkward 
translator of Homer be a good one I No; but a graceful, 
easy, natural, faithful version of him, will not that be a good 
one ] Yes : allow me but this, and I insist upon it, that such 
a one may be produced on my principles, and can be produc- 
ed on no other, Reading his Lordship's sentiments over 



232 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

again, I am inclined to think that in all I have said, I have 
only given him back the same in other terms. He disallows 
both the absolute /ree, and the absolute close ,- so do I, and if 
I understand myself, have said so in my preface. He wishes 
to recommend a medium, though he will not call it so ; so 
do I ; only we express it differently. What is it then that 
we dispute about 1 I confess my head is not good enough to- 
day to discover." 

This was almost the last letter Cowper wrote to Mr. Hay- 
ley, and with a very few exceptions, the last that he ever 
wrote at all. Shortly after he had forwarded this, he expe- 
rienced a more severe attack of depression than he had ever 
before felt, which paralyzed all his powers, and continued 
almost wholly unmitigated, through the remaining period of 
his life. The situation to which he was now reduced, was 
deeply affecting ; imagination can scarcely picture to itself 
a scene of wretchedness more truly deplorable. Mrs. Un- 
win's infirmities had reduced her to a state of second child- 
hood ; a deep-seated melanchoh', which nothing could remove, 
preyed upon Cowper's mind, and caused him to shun the 
sight of all except the individual who was utterly incapable 
of rendering him any assistance ; his domestic expenses were 
daily increasing, and as his capabilities of preventing it were 
now entirely suspended, there was every probability of his 
being involved in considerable embarrassment. The provi- 
dence of God, however, which had watched over, and pre- 
served him during the whole of his life, and had appeared on 
his behalf in several instances of peculiar distress, in a man- 
ner truly striking and affecting, did not abandon him in his 
present painful emergency. Lady Hesketh, his amiable cousin, 
and favourite corres])ondent, now generously undertook the 
arduous task of watching over the melancholy poet and his 
feeble associate. The painful duties of this important office, 
which every one who is at all acquainted with the great anx- 
iety of mind required in all cases of mental aberration, will 
admit to be in no ordinary degree arduous, she discharged with 
the utmost christian tenderness and affection. Nor did she 
discover any disposition to relinquish her charge, though it 
made considerable inroads upon her health, owing to the con- 
finement and exertion it req\iired, vmtil an opportunity offered 
of placing these interesting invalids under the care of those 
who she knew would feel the greatestpleasure in laying them- 
selves out for their comfort. 

Hearing nothing from Cowper for several days beyond the 
time when he was accustomed to write, Mr. Hayley began to 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COAVPER. 233 

fear that his apprehensions respecting his friend's health were 
realized. He did not, however, receive the painful intellig-ence 
of his relapse until some time afterwards, when he was inform- 
ed of it by a letter from Lady Hesketh, detailing the particu^ 
lars of his distressing case. About this time the Rev. Mr. 
Greatheed, Avith whom Cowper had long been on terms of in- 
timacjs and Avhom he very highly esteemed, paid him a visit. 
Such, however, was the distressing state to which Cowper 
was now reduced, that he refused to see any one, but his own 
domestics, on whatever friendly terms he might have been 
with them formerly. The hopes that his friends had cherish- 
ed, of his recovery, in some degree, at least, as the summer 
advanced, were now entirely cut off; and the)'^ were all fully 
persuaded that unless some improvement took place in the 
state of his mind, the worst consequences were to be appre- 
hended. The best advice had been taken without the slight- 
est benefit, and the case began to appear altogether hopeless. 
It occurred to Lady Hesketh that probably the presence of 
Mr. Hayley would cheer the poet's mind, and rouse him from 
his present state of almost absolute despair. She suggested 
this to Mr. Greatheed, but said she could not venture to men- 
tion the subject in her letters to Mr. Hayley, as it appeared 
unreasonable to request a person to come so great a distance 
with so little real chance of success. Mr. Greatheed immedi- 
ately wrote the following letter to Mr. Hayley, on the subject, 
which describes the melancholy condition to which Cowper 
was then reduced, and the great anxiet)"^ of mind manifested 
by his friends on his behalf: — "Dear Sir, Lady Hesketh's 
correspondence has acquainted you with the melancholy re- 
lapse of our dear friend at Weston ; but I am uncertain whether 
j'ou know that within the last fortnight, he has refused food 
of every kind, except now and then a ver}^ small piece of toast- 
ed bread, dipped generally in water, sometimes mixed with 
a little wine. This, her Ladyship informs me, was the case 
till last Saturday, since then he has eaten a little at each fa- 
mily meal. He persists in refusing to take such medicines as 
are indispensable to his state of body. Li such circumstances 
his long continuance in life cannot be expected. How de- 
voutly to be wished is the alleviation of his sufferings and dis- 
tress ! You, dear Sir, who know so well the worth of our be- 
loved and admired friend, sympathi-ze with us in this affliction, 
and deprecate his loss doubtless in no ordinary degree. You 
have already most eflectually expressed and proved the 
warmth of your friendship. I cannot think that anything but 
your society would have been sufficient, during the infirmity 
20* 



334 THE LIFE OF ^VILLIAM COWPER. 

under which his mind has long been oppressed, to have sup- 
ported him ag-ainst the shock of Mrs. tJnwin's paralytic at- 
tack. I am certain that nothing else could have prevailed upon 
him to undertake the journey to Eartham. You have succeed- 
ed where his other I'riends knew they could not, and where 
they apprehended no one could. How natural, therefore, is 
it, for them to look to you, as most likely to be instrumental, 
under the blessing of God, to bring him relief in the present 
distressing and alarming crisis. It is, indeed, not a little un- 
reasonable to ask any person to take such a journey, to witness 
so melancholy a scene, with an uncertainty of the desired suc- 
cess, increased as the present difficulty is, by dear Mr. Cow- 
per's aversion to all company. On these accounts Lady Hes- 
keth does not ask it of you, rejoiced as she would be at your 
arrival. Am not I, dear Sir, a very presumptuous person, 
who, in the face of all opposition, dare do this ] I am em- 
boldened by these two powerful supporters — conscience, and 
experience. Were I at Eartham, I would certainly under- 
take the journey I have presumed to recommend, for the bare 
possibility of restoring Mr. Cowperto himself, to his friends, 
and to the public." 

Mr. Hay ley was too affectionately attached to Cowper, to 
hesitate for a moment, what steps he should take on the re- 
ceipt of this letter. The remotest probability of his being 
useful to his afflicted friend, was amply sufficient to have in- 
duced him to undertake a much longer journey. than this, to 
whatever dangers and inconveniences it might have exposed 
him. He accordingly made immediate arrangements for a 
visit to Weston, where he arrived a few days afterwards, 
with his talented son, a youth of great promise, to whom 
Cowper was most affectionately attached. Little or no bene- 
fit, however, resulted from this visit. The suffering invalid 
was too deeplj"^ overwhelmed by his depressive malady to 
show even the slightest symptoms of satisfaction at the ap- 
pearance of one whom he had ever been accustomed to wel- 
come with such affectionate delight. His acute anguish had 
nearly extinguished all the finest faculties of his mind, and 
annihilated, at least for a time, all the best affections of his 
heart. He seemed to shrink from every human creature, and 
if he allowed any one, except his own domestics, to approach 
him, it was wuth so much obvious reluctance and aversion, 
that no benefit could be expected to arise from the interview. 
The only exception was in the case of Mr. Hayley's son, in 
whose company he would occasionally, for a short time, 
seem pleased ; which Mr. Hayley " attributed partly to the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 235 

peculiar charm which is generally found in the manners of 
tender ingenuous children; and partly to that uncommon 
sweetness of character which had inspired Cowper with a de- 
gree of parental partiality towards this highly promising 
youth." The united efforts, however, of hoth father and son, 
could not produce the slightest alleviation of Cowper's suf- 
ferings. 

Shortly after Mr. Hayley's arrival at Weston, Lady Hes- 
keth embraced the opportunity of leaving her interesting in- 
valids for a few days in his charge, that she might, by a 
personal interview, consult the eminent Dr. Willis, who had 
prescribed so successfully in tlie case of his Majesty George 
III., on the subject of Cowper's malady. Lord Thurlow 
had written to the Doctor in Cowper's behalf, and at his and 
Lady Hesketh's request, he was induced to visit the interest- 
ing sufferer at Weston. Here again, however, the expecta- 
tions of his friends were greatly disappointed ; as the Doc- 
tor's skill on this occasion proved wholly unsuccessful. 

Mr. Hayley remained at Weston for some weeks, exerting 
all tlie means that ingenuity could invent, or that affection 
could dictate, to afford some relief to his suffering friend ; 
he had, however, the mortification to perceive that his well- 
directed efforts were entirely useless. The circumstances in 
which Cowper was now placed, were exceedingly unfavoura- 
ble to mental relief. Associated with one whose daily increas- 
ing infirmities were rapid! j?^ reducing her to a state of the most 
affecting imbecility; the constant sight of which was of itself, 
almost sufficient to have produced melancholy in a tender 
mind like Cowper's, it was hardly probable that, under such 
circumstances, he should recover from his most depressive 
malady. And yet to have separated him from the being with 
whom he had been so long associated, would have been an 
act of cruelty, which he would not, in all probability, have 
survived. All that could be done was to mitigate, as much 
as possible, the sufferings of each individual, and to perse- 
vere in the use of such means, as would be most likely, under 
such circumstances, to promote the poet's recovery, leaving 
the event at His disposal who, in a manner altogether unex- 
pected, had formerly appeared for him on several distressing 
occasions. 

One morning in April, 1794, while Mr. Haylej'^ was at 
Weston, musing, as he and Lady Hesketh w^ere some- 
times accustomed to do, over the melancholy scene of Cow- 
per's suflerings, Avith aching and almost broken hearts, at the 
utter inefficacy of every measure that had been taken to 



I 



236 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

afford him relief, they were suddenly almost overjoyed at the 
receipt of a letter from Lord Spencer, announcing it to be his 
Majesty's gracious intention to allow Cowper the grant of 
such a pension for life as would secure to him an honourable 
competence. The only subject of regret, at this pleasing 
circumstance, was that he whom it was chiefly intended to 
benefit, and who, if he had been free from his depressive 
malady, would have been gratified in the highest degree at 
this instance of royal generosity, was in a condition that 
rendered it impossible for him to receive, even the faintest 
glimmering of joy on the occasion. It was, however, fondly 
hoped by his friends, that he would ultimately recover, and 
that the day would at length arrive, when he would be able 
gratefully to acknowledge this princely beneficence. Well 
was it, indeed, for his friends, that they supported their minds 
by indulging these hopes of amendment. Had they known 
that he was doomed to pass six years in the same depressed 
and melancholy condition, with scarcely a single alleviation, 
and was, at the expiration of that lengthened period, to leave 
the world under the influence of this midnight gloom, they 
would themselves have almost become the subjects of 
despair. Such, however, was the case ; and it is doubtful, 
though Cowper subsequently recovered in some slight degree 
from his depression, whether he was ever in a condition fully 
to appreciate the value of his Majesty's grant. 

Mr. Hayley's departure from Weston, which was now be- 
come to him as much a scene of suffering, as it had formerly 
been of enjoyment, he thus affectingly records: — "After de- 
voting a few weeks at Weston, I was under the painful ne- 
cessity of forcing myself aw'ay from my unhappy friend, who, 
though he appeared to take no pleasure in my society, ex- 
pressed extreme reluctance to let me depart. I hardly ever 
endured an hour more dreadfully distressing than the hour in 
which I left him. Yet the anguish of it would have been 
," greatly increased, had I been conscious that he was destined 
to years of this dark depression, and that I should see him 
no more. I still indulged the hope, from the native vigour 
of his frame, that as he had formerly struggled through 
longet fits of the depressive malady, his darkened mind 
Vi'ottld yet emerge from this calamitous eclipse, and shine 
forth again witii new lustre. These hopes were considerably 
increased at a subsequent period : but, alas ! they were de- 
lusive ! for though he recovered sufficient command of his 
faculties to write a few occasional poems, and to retouch his 
' Homer,' yet the prospect of his perfect recovery was never 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 237 

realized ; and I had beheld the poet of unrivalled genius, the 
sympathetic friend, and the delightful companion, for the last 
time!" 

Cowper remained in the sam.e most distressing state, from 
the time of Mr. Hayley's departure, which was in the spring 
of 1794, till the summer of 1795. During the whole of this 
time he was most affectionately watched over by his amiable 
cousin : she procured for him the best medical advice, and 
emploj'ed every means that promised the slighest chance of 
proving beneficial. All these, however, were ineffectual to 
lighten that ponderous burden which incessantly pressed 
upon and weighed down his spirits. He had now been 
eighteen months in this deplorable state, and, instead of be- 
coming better, if any alteration had taken place at all, it was 
evidently for the worse. Lady Hesketh's health was begin- 
ning to fail, owing to the intense anxiety of mind she had ex- 
perienced for so long a period ; and it became at length de- 
sirable to try what effect a change of air and of scene would 
have upon him. Almost all his friends recommended this 
measure, which was no sooner determined upon, than his 
highly esteemed relative of Norfolk, the Reverend J. John- 
son, who had been several weeks at Weston, assisting Lady 
Hesketh, voluntarily and generously undertook the charge of 
both these suffering but interesting individuals. Their re- 
moval from Weston to North Tuddenham, in Norfolk, took 
place under the immediate guidance of Mr. Johnson, on the 
28th July, 1795. They performed their journey in ^safety 
and ease in three days. Here they were accommodated with 
a commodious parsonage-house, b)'' the kindness of the Rev. 
Leonard Shelford, with whom Mr. Johnson had previously 
made arrangements for their reception, fearing lest the ac- 
tivity and bustle that occasionally prevailed in the vicinity of 
his own house, situated in the market-place at East Dere- 
ham, should harass and perplex the tender mind of Cowper. 

They continued in their new residence only a very short 
time. In the following August Mr. Johnson conducted them 
to Mundesley, a village on the Norfolk coast, hoping that a 
situation by tlie sea-side noight prove amusing to Cowper, and 
become ultimately the means of reviving his spirits. Here 
they remained till the following October, without appearing 
to derive any benefit whatever. While in this situation Cow- 
per, who had long discontinued all corresj)ondence with his 
friends, ventured to Avrite the following letter to the Reve- 
rend Mr. Buchanan, which, while it shows the melancholy 
depression under which he still laboured, proves that he was 



338 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

not without some occasional intermissions of pleasure : — " 1 
will forget for a moment that, to whomsoever I may address 
myself, a letter from me can no otherwise be welcome than 
as a curiosity. To you. Sir, I address this, urged to it by 
extreme penury of employment, and the desire I feel to learn 
something of what is doing, and has been done, at Weston 
(my beloved Weston) since I left it. 

" The coldness of these blasts, even in the hottest days, 
has been such, that, added to the irritation of the salt spray, 
with which they are always charged, they have occasioned 
me an inflammation in the eyelids, which threatened, a few 
days since, to confine me entirely ; but by absenting myself 
as much as possible from the beach, and guarding my face 
with an umbrella, that inconvenience is in some degree 
abated. Mj'' chamber commands a very near view of the 
ocean, and the ships, at high water, approach the coast so 
closely, that a man, furnished with better eyes than mine, 
might I doubt not discern the sailors from tlie window. No 
situation, at least when the weather is clear, can be more 
pleasant ; which you will easily credit, when I add, that it 
imparts something a little resembling pleasure, even to me. 
Gratify me with news of Weston I If Mr. Gregor, and your 
neighbours the Courtenays, are there, mention me to them in 
such terms as you see good. Tell me, if my poor birds are 
living ■? I never see the herbs I used to give them, without 
a recollection of them, and sometimes am ready to gather 
them, forgetting that I am not at home." 

In the beginning of October, 1795, Mr. Johnson took the 
two interesting invalids to his own residence at Dereham, 
where they remained about a month, when they removed 
to Dunham Lodge, which was then unoccupied, and was 
pleasantly situated in a park, a few miles from Swaffham, 
and which from that time became their settled residence. 
Here they were constantly attended by two of the most inte- 
resting females that could possibly have been selected, Miss 
Johnson and Miss Perowne. The latter took so lively an in- 
terest in Cowper's welfare, and exerted so much ingenuity, 
in attempting to produce some alleviation of his sufferings, 
that he ever afterwards honoured her with his peculiar regard, 
and preferred her attendance to that of every other individual 
by whom he was surrounded ; and she continued her kind 
attention to him to the close of his life. The providence of 
God (as Mr. Hayley justly remarks) was strikingly display- 
ed towards Cowper, in supplying him with attendants, dur- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 239 

ing the whole of his life, peculiarly suited to the exigencies 
of mental dejection." 

Cowper's melancholy depression still remained unallevi- 
ated. In June, 1796, however, an incident occurred, which 
for a time, though it removed not his dejection, revived the 
spirits of his friends, and cheered them with the hope of his 
ultimate recovery. Mr. Johnson invariably procured copies 
of all such new publications as were likely to interest the 
mind of Cowper ; and as Cowper had discontinued the use of 
his pen, and manifested considerable disinclination to read 
himself, Mr. Johnson kindly undertook to read these publi- 
cations to his relative whenever suitable opportunities offer- 
ed. About this time Mr. Wakefield published his edition of 
Pope's Homer. It occurred to Mr. Johnson, who always 
readily embraced the slightest incident that seemed likely to 
diminish the artguish of his afflicted relative, that this work 
might probably excite the poet's attention sufficiently to 
rouse him, in some degree, from his dejection. He immedi- 
ately, therefore, procured a copy, and ingeniously placed it 
in a conspicuous part of a large unfrequented room, through 
which he knew Cowper would have to pass, in his way from 
Mrs. Unwin's apartments, and in which, he was aware, it 
was Cowper's practice, daily, to take some turns, observing 
previously to his afflicted relative, that the work contained 
some occasional comparison of Pope with Cowper. The 
plan succeeded far beyond Mr. Johnson's expectation : 
to his agreeable surprise, he discovered, the next day, that 
Cowper had not only found the passages to which he had 
adverted, but had corrected his translation at the suggestion 
of some of them. Perceiving that the poet's attention was 
arrested, it was vigilantly cherished by the utmost efforts of 
Mr. Johnson ; and from that time Cowper regularly engaged 
in a revisal of his own version, and for some weeks produced 
almost sixty new lines a-day. He continued this occupation 
so steadily, and with so much deliberation, that all his 
friends began to rejoice, at the prospect of his almost imme- 
diate recovery. Their hopes, however, were of short dura- 
tion. In a few weeks he again relapsed into the same state 
of hopeless depression. In the ensuing autumn, Mr. John- 
son again made trial of a change of air, and of scene, and re- 
moved the family to the delightful village of Mundesley. No 
apparent benefit, however, resulted from this change, and to- 
wards the close of October, 1796, it was thought desirable to 
remove the family to Mr. Johnson's house at Dereham, and 



240 THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 

to remain there during the winter, as the Lodg-e was at too 
great a distance from Mr. Johnson's churches. 

In the following December it became evident that Mrs. 
Unwin's life was rapidly drawing to a close; she had been 
gradually sinking for a considerable time ; and on the seven- 
teenth day of this month, in the 72d j'^ear of her age, she 
peacefully, and without a groan, or a sigh, resigned her hap- 

})y spirit into the hands of God. Her life had been eminent- 
y distinguished by the most fervent and unaffected piety, 
which she had displayed in circumstances tUe most trying 
and afflicting, and her end was peace. The day before she 
expired, Cowper, as he had long been accustomed to do at 
regular periods, spent a short time with his afflicted and long- 
tried friend ; and though to his inmates he appeared so ab- 
sorbed in his own mental anguish, as to take little, if any 
notice of her condition, it was evident aftef wards that he 
clearly perceived how fast she was sinking ; for, as a faith- 
ful servant of himself and his afflicted friend, was opening 
the window of his chamber the following morning, he ad- 
dressed her in a tone the most plaintive and affecting, " Sal- 
ly, is there life above stairs !" a convincing proof that the 
acuteness of his own anguish had not prevented him from 
bestowing great attention to the sufferings of his aged friend. 
He saw her, for the last time, about an hour before she ex- 
pired ; and, notwithstanding the intensity of his own distress, 
he was much affected, though he clearly perceived that she 
enjoyed the utmost tranquillity. He saw the corpse once af- 
ter her decease ; and after looking at it attentively for a short 
time, he suddenly withdrew, under the influence of the strong- 
est emotions. She was buried in Dereham church, on the 
23d December, 1796, and a marble tablet was raised to her 
memory, with the following inscription : 

"IN MEMORY OF 
MARY, 

WIDOW OF THE REV. MORLEY UmVIN, 



MOTHER OF THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORN 

UNWIN, 

BORN AT ELY, 1724. 
BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 1796. • 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COAVPER. 241 

Trusting- in God with all her lieart and mind, 

This woman proved magnanimously kind, 

Endured affliction's desolating hail, 

And watched a poet tlirough misfortune's vale. 

Her spotless dust, angelic g'uards defend ! 

It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend ! 

That single title in itself is fame, 

For all who read his verse revere her name." 

Had Cowper been in the enjoyment of health, and had his 
mind been entirely free from his gloomy forebodings, at the 
time of Mrs. Unwin's decease, so tender and lively were his 
feelings, that it would undoubtedly have proved to him one of 
the severest shocks he had ever experienced. Such, how- 
ever, was the influence of his melancholy depression, that he 
never afterwards adverted to the event, even in the most dis- 
tant way, nor did he even make the slightest inquiries re- 
specting her funeral. A more striking proof of the intense 
anguish of his own suflTerings cannot possibly be given. Dread- 
ful, indeed, must have been those feelings that could have 
produced an insensibility so great in his tender mind, for the 
loss of such a friend ! 

In the summer of 1797, Cowper's health appeared in some 
measure to improve, and in the following September, at the 
earnest entreaty of his kinsman, he again resumed the revisal 
of his Homer; and, notwithstanding the severity of his men- 
tal anguish, he persevered in it, with some occasional inter- 
ruption, till the eighth of May, 1799, on which day he com- 
pleted the work. It was evidently owing to the rare talents 
exerted by Mr. Johnson on the mind of Cowper, that he was 
induced to bring this great work to a successful close. And 
it would have been exceedingly difficult, if not utcerly impos- 
sible, to have found an individual who could, with so much 
tenderness, have exerted an influence so beneficial over the 
distressed mind of the poet. He was, however, indefatiga- 
ble in his efforts to divert his mind from the melancholy de- 
pression which spread its pernicious influence over his soul. 
And, during the whole of the summer of 1798, he endeavour- 
ed, by frequent change of scene, sometimes residing for a 
week or two at Mundesley, and then returning to Dereham, 
to restore the mind of his revered relative to its proper tone. 
And though he had not the satisfaction to see his eflTorts 
crowned with complete success, yet he was pleased to per- 
ceive them prove in some degree, at least, beneficial to the 
interesting sufferer. In his sketch of Cowper's life, pub- 
lished in the last edition of the poet's works, he " records it 
21 



243 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWl'ER. 

as a subject of much gratitude, that a merciful providence 
should again have appointed his afflicted relative the employ- 
ment alluded to, as, more than anything else, it diverted his 
mind from a contemplation of its miseries, and seemed to ex- 
tend his breathing, which was at other times short, to a depth 
of respiration more compatible with ease." 

The happy means pursued by Mr. Johnson to induce Cow- 
per to complete the revisal of his Homer, and its successful 
result, ought not to go unrecorded. He thus relates it in the 
excellent sketch above referred to : — " His kinsman resolved, 
if it were possible, to reinstate him in the revisal of his Ho- 
mer. One morning, therefore, after breakfast, in the month 
of September, 1797, he placed the commentaries on the table 
one by one, namely, Villoison, Barnes, and Clarke, opening 
them all, together with the poet's translation, at the place 
where he had left off a twelvemonth before; but, talking with 
him as he paced the room, upon a very diiferent subject, 
namely, the impossibility of the things befalling him, which 
his imagination had represented; when, as his companion 
had wished, Cowper said to hira, 'And are you sure that I 
shall be here till the book you are reading is finished.' Quite 
sure, replied his kinsman, and that you will also be here to 
complete the revisal of your Homer, pointing to the books, 
if you will resume it to-day. As he repeated these words, 
he left the room, rejoicing in the well-known token of their 
having sunk deep into the poet's mind, namely, his seating 
himself on the sofa, taking up one of the books, and saying, 
in a low and plaintive voice, ' I may as well do this, for I 
can do nothing else.' " 

In July, 1798, the Dowager Lady Spencer paid the afflicted 
poet a visic. Had he been in the enjoyment of health, he 
would undoubtedly have received her with the greatest re- 
spect and affection, and the conversation between^hem would 
have been equally pleasing to both parties; such, however, 
was his melancholy depression, that he seemed not to derive 
any pleasure from the visit, and on no occasion could he be 
prevailed upon to converse with his distinguished visitor with 
any apparent pleasure. 

While residing at Mundesle3% in October, 1798, Cowper 
felt himself so far relieved fromi his depressive malady as to 
undertake, without solicitation, to write to Lady Hesketh. 
The following extract from this letter, will show the severity 
of his mental anguish, even at that period: — " You describe 
delightful scenes, but you describe them to one, who, if he 
even saw them, could receive no delight from them, who has 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 243 

a faint recollection, and so faint as to be like an almost for- 
gotten dream, that once he was susceptible of pleasure from 
such causes. The country that you have had in prospect, 
has been always famed for its beauties ; but the wretch who 
can derive no gratification from a view of nature, even under 
the disadvantage of her most ordinary dress, will have no 
eyes to admire her in any. In one day, — in one minute, I 
should rather have said, — sh§ became an universal blank to 
me, and though from a different cause, j'et with an effect as 
difficult to remove as blindness itself." 

Mr. Johnson again removed from Mundesley to Dereham, 
towards the end of October, and pursuing their journey, on 
this occasion, with himself. Miss Perowae, and Cowper, in 
the postchaise, they were overturned. Cowper discovered 
no particular alarm on the occasion, and through the blessing 
of Providence, they all escaped unhurt. 

As soon as Cowper had finished the revisal of his Homer, 
Mr. Johnson laid before him the papers containing the com- 
mencement of his projected poem — The Four Ages. He, 
however, declined undertaking it, as a work far too important 
for him to attempt in his present situation. Several other 
literary projects, of easier accomplishment, were then sug- 
gested to him by his kinsman, who was aware of the great 
benefit he had derived from employment, and was seriously 
apprehensive that the want of it would add to his depression : 
all of them, however, were objected to by the poet, who, at 
length, replied, that he had just thought of six Latin verses, 
and if he could do anything, it must be in pursuing something 
of that description. He, however, gratified his friends, by 
occasionally employing the powers of his astonishing mind, 
which still remained in full vigour, in the composition of 
some short original poems. In this way he produced the 
poem entitled Montes Glaciales, founded upon an incident, 
which he had heard read from the Norwich paper, several 
months previous; to which, at the time, owing to his depres- 
sion, he appeared to pay no attention. This poem he after- 
wards, at the request of Miss Perowne, translated into Latin. 
Translation was his principal amusement; sometimes from 
Latin and Greek into English, and occasionally from English 
into Latin. In this way he translated several of Gay's Fables, 
and communicated to them, in their new dress, all that ease 
and vivacity which they have in the original. Thus ele- 
gantly employed, he continued, with some intermissions, 
almost to the close of his life. 

The last original poem he composed was entitled The CasU 



244 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

away, and was founded upon an incident, related in Anson's 
Voyage, of a mariner who was washed overboard in the At- 
lantic, and lost, which he remembered to have read in that 
work many years ago, and which, according to the following 
stanzas, selected from it, he appears to have regarded as an 
illustration of his own case : 

" Obscurest night involved the sky. 

The Atlantic billows roared. 
When such a destined wretch as I, 

Washed headlong- from on board, 
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft. 
His floating home for ever left. 

He long survives who lives an hour 

In ocean self-upheld. 
And so long he, with unspent power. 

His destiny repelled ; 
And ever, as the minutes flew. 
Entreated help, or cry'd 'Adieu !' 

No poet wept him, but the page 

Of narrative sincere. 
That tells his name, his worth, his age. 

Is wet with Anson's tear : 
And tears, by bards or heroes shed, 
AUke immortalize tlie dead. 

I therefore purpose not, or dream. 

Descanting on his fate ! 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date. 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 

No voice divine the storm allay 'd. 

No light propitious shone. 
When snatched from all efl'ectual aid. 

We perished, each alone ; 
But I beneath a rougher sea. 
And whelmed in deeper gulphs than he \" 

. Anxious as all his friends now were, that he should be 
constantly employed, as this proved the best remedy for his 
depression, they were frequently pained to see him reduced 
to a state of hopeless inactivity, owing to the severity of his 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 245 

mental ang-uish. At these seasons, what suited him best, 
was, Mr, Johnson's reading to him, which he was accustomed 
to do, ahnost invariably for a lengtli of time, every day. And 
so industriously had he persevered in this method of relieving 
the poet's mind, that after having exhausted numerous works 
of fiction, which had the power of attracting his attention, he 
began to read to his afflicted relative the poet's own works. 
Cowper evinced no disapprobation to this till the reader 
arrived at the history of John Gilpin, when he entreated his 
relative to desist. 

It became evident towards the close of 1799, that his bodily 
strength was rapidly declining, though his mental powers, 
notwithstanding the unmitigated severity of his depression, 
remained unimpaired. In January, 1800, Mr. Johnson ob- 
served in him many symptoms which he thought very unfa- 
vourable. This induced him to call in additional medical 
advice. His complaint was pronounced to be, not as has been 
generally stated, dropsical, but a breaking up of the consti- 
tution. Remedies, however, were tried, and he was recom- 
mended to take as much gentle exercise as he could bear. 
To this recommendation he discovered no particular aversion, 
and Mr. Johnson took him for a ride in a postchaise, as often 
as circumstances would permit ; it was, however, with con- 
siderable difficulty he could be prevailed upon to use such 
medicines as it was thought necessary to employ. 

About this time his friend Mr. Hayley wrote to him, ex- 
pressing a wish that he would new-model a passage in his 
translation of the Iliad, where mention is made of the very 
ancient sculpture in which Da;dalus had represented the 
Cretan dance for Ariadne. "On the 31st January," says 
Mr. Hayley, " I received from him his improved version of 
the lines in question, written in a firm and delicate hand. 
The sight of such writing from my long-silent friend, in- 
spired me with a lively, but too sanguine hope, that I might 
see him once more restored. Alas ! the verses which I sur- 
veyed as a delightful omen of future letters from a corre- 
spondent so inexpressibly dear to me, proved the last effort 
of his pen." 

Cowper's weakness now very rapidly increased, and by 
the end of February it had become so great as to render him 
incapable of enduring the fatigue of his usual ride, which 
was hence discontinued. In a few days he ceased to come 
down stairs, though he was still able, after breakfasting in 
bed, to adjourn to another room, and to remain there till the 
evening. By the end of the ensuing March, he wa« com- 
21* 



246 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

pelled to forego even this trifling exercise. He was now en- 
tirely confined to his bed-room ; he was, however, still able 
to sit up to every meal, except breakfast. 

His friend Mr. Rose, about this time, paid him a visit. 
Such, however, was the melancholy change which his com- 
plicated maladies had produced upon his mind, that he 
expressed no pleasure at the arrival of one whom he had pre- 
viously been accustomed to greet with the most cordial re- 
ception. Mr. Rose remained with htm till the first week in 
April, witnessing with much sorrow the sufferings of the 
afflicted poet, and kindly sympathising with his distressed 
relations and friends. Little as Cowper had appeared to 
enjoy his company, he evinced symptoms of considerable re- 
gret at his departure. 

Both Lady Hesketh, and Mr. Hayley, would have follow- 
ed the humane example of Mr. Rose, in visiting the dying 
poet, had they not been prevented by circumstances over 
which they had no control. The health of the former, had 
suffered considerably by her long confinement with Cowper, 
at the commencement of his last attack, and the latter was 
detained by the impending death of a darling child. 

Mr. Johnson informs us, in his sketch of the poet's life, 
that, " on the 19th April the weakness of this truly pitiable 
sufferer had so much increased that his kinsman apprehended 
his death to be near. Adverting, therefore, to the affliction, 
as well of body as of mind, which his beloved inmate was 
then enduring, he ventured to speak of his approaching dis- 
solution as the signal of his deliverance from both these 
miseries. After a pause of a few moments, which was less 
interrupted by the objections of his desponding relative than 
he had dared to hope, he proceeded to an observation more 
consolatory still — namely, that in the world to which he was 
hastening, a merciful Redeemer, who had prepared unspeak- 
able happiness for all his children, and therefore for him . 

To the first part of this sentence he had listened with compo- 
sure, but the concluding words were no sooner uttered than his 
passionately expressed entreaties that his companion would 
desist from any further observations of a similar kind, clearly 
proving that though he was on the eve of being invested with 
angelic light, the darkness of delusion still veiled his spirit." 

On the following day, which was Sunday, he revived a 
little. Mr. Johnson, on repairing to his room, after he had 
discharged his clerical duties, found him in bed and asleep. 
He did not, however, leave the room, but remained watching 
him, expecting he might, on awaking, require his assistance^ 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 247 

Whilst engaged in this melancholy office, and endeavouring 
to reconcile his mind to the loss of so dear a friend, by con- 
sidering the gain which that friend would experience, his 
reflections were suddenly interrupted by the singularly varied 
tone in which Cowper then began to breathe. Imagining it 
to be the sound of his immediate summons, after listening to 
it for several minutes, he arose from the foot of the bed on 
which he was sitting, to take a nearer, and, as he supposed, 
a last view of his departing relative, commending his soul to 
that gracious Saviour, whom, in the fulness of mental health, 
he had delighted to honour. As he put aside the curtains, 
Cowper opened his eyes, but closed them again without 
speaking, and breathed as usual. On Monday he was much 
worse ; though, towards the close of the day, he revived suf- 
ficiently to take a little refreshment. The two following 
days he evidently continued to sink rapidly. He revived a 
little on Thursday, but, in the course of the night, he appear- 
ed exceedingly exhausted ; some refreshment was presented 
to him by Miss Perowne, but, owing to a persuasion that 
nothing could afford him relief, though without any apparent 
impression that the hand of death was already upon him, he 
mildly rejected the cordial with these words, the last he was 
heard to utter : " What can it signify .?" 

Early on Friday morning, the 25th, a decided alteration 
for the worse was perceived to have taken place. A deadly 
change appeared in his countenance. In this insensible stette 
he remained till a few minutes before five in the afternoon, 
when he gently, and without the slightest apparent pain, 
ceased to breathe, and his happy spirit escaped from his 
body, in which, amidst the thickest gloom of darkness, it 
had so long been imprisoned, and took its flight to the re- 
gions of perfect purity and bliss. In a manner so mild and 
gentle did death make its approach, that though his kinsman, 
his medical attendant, and three others were standing at the 
foot of the bed, with their eyes fixed upon his dying counte- 
nance, the precise moment of his departure was unobserved 
by any. 

" From this mournful period," writes Mr. Johnson, " till 
the features of his deceased friend were closed from his view, 
the expression which the kinsman of Cowper observed in 
them, and which he was affectionately delighted to suppose 
an index of the last thoughts and enjoyments of his soul in 
its gradual escape from the depths of despondence, was that 
of calmness and composure, mingled, as it were, with holy 
surprise." 



248 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

He was buried in that part of Dereham Church, called St. 
Edmund's Chapel, on Saturday, the 2d May, 1800; and his 
funeral was attended by several of his relatives. In a lite- 
rary point of view, his long and painful affliction had ever 
been regarded as a national calamity ; a deep and almost uni- 
versal sympathy was felt in his behalf; and by all men of 
learning and of piety, his death was looked upon as an event 
of no' common importance. 

As he died without a will, his amiable and beloved rela- 
tion. Lady Hesketh, kindly undertook to become his admin- 
istratrix. She raised a tablet monument to his memory with 
the following inscription : — 

IN MEMORY OF 

WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. 

BORN IN HERTFORDSHIRE, 

1731. 

BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 

1800. 

Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel 

Of talents, dignified by sacred zeal, 

Here, to devotion's bard, devoutly just. 

Pay your fond tribute, due to Cowj.er's dust! 

England, exulting in his spotless fame, 

Ranks with her dearest sons his favourite name! 

Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise 

So clear a title to affection's praise : 

His hig-hest honours to the heart belong — 

His virtues formed the magic of his song. 

The following lines have been kindly handed to the author 
by a friend, in manuscript. He is not sure they have never 
been in print, though he rather inclines to think such is the 
case. 

And is the spirit of the Poet fled ? 

Yes, from its earthly tenement 'tis flown ; 
And deatli at length hath added to the dead 

The sweetest minstrel that the world has known. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 249 

Too nice, too great, his sympathy of soul ; 

For, oh! his feehngs were so much refined. 
That sense became impi-tient of control, 

And darkness seized the empire of liis mind. 

But when Reflection threw her eagle eye 
Athwart the gloom of unpropitious fate. 

Faith op'd a splendid vista to the sky. 
And gave an earnest of a happier state : 

To see, whilst sceptics to the effects of chance 

Ascribe creation's ever-varying form ; 
To see distinctly, at the first slight glance. 

Who wings the lightning, and who drives the storm, 

To brush the cobweb follies from the great, 
Which Art, with all her sophistry has spread 

Uphold the honoui* of a sinking state. 

And bid Religion raise her drooping head. 

Such were the objects of the enraptured bard. 

In such his lucid intei'vals he passed; 
And knowing Yh-tue was her own reward. 

Wooed, and revered, and loved her to the last. 

Know, then, that Death has added to his list 

As sweet a bard as ever -swept a lyre : 
In Death's despite his memory shall exist 

In numbers pregnant with celestial fire. 

Yes, Cowper! with thy own expressive lays, 
Lays which have haply many a mind illum'd, 

Thy name shall triumph o'er the lapse of days, 
And only perish when the world 's consunied! 



( 250 ) 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



Description of his person, his manners, his disposition, his piety 
— His attachment to the Established Church — His attainments 
— Originality of his poetry — His religious sentiments — The 
warmth of his friendship — His attachment to the British con- 
stitution — His industry and perseverance — Happy manner in 
which he could console the ajfflicled — His occasional intervals of 
enjoyment — Character as a writer — Poiuers of description — 
Beauty of his letters — His aversioti to flattery, to affectation, 
to cruelty — His love of liberty, and dread of its abuse — Strmig 
attachment to, and intimate acquaintance with the scriptures — 
Pleasure with which he sometimes viewed the vjorks of creation 
— Contentment of his mi7id — Extract fi-om an anonymous 
critic — Poetic tribute to his memory. 

It is scarcely necessary to add anything on the subject of 
Cowper's character, after the ample delineation that has al- 
ready been given of it in this memoir ; we shall, however, 
subjoin the following brief remarks, which could not so con- 
veniently be introduced in any other part of the narrative. 

Cowper was of the middle stature ; he had a fine, open, 
and expressive countenance ; that indicated much thoughtful- 
ness, and almost excessive sensibility. His eyes were more 
remarkable for the expression of tenderness than of penetra- 
tion. The general expression of his countenance partook of 
that sedate cheerfulness, which so strikingly characterizes all 
his original productions, and which never failed to impart a 
peculiar charm to his conversation. His limbs were more re- 
markable for strength than for delicacy of form. He possessed 
a warm temperament ; and he says of himself, in a letter to 
his cousin Mrs. Bodham, dated February 27, 1790, that he 
was naturally " somewhat irritable," but, if he was, his reli- 
gious principle had so subdued that tendency, that a near re- 
lation, who was intimately acquainted with him the last ten 
years of his life, never saw his temper ruffled in a single in- 
stance. 

His manners were generally somewhat shy and reserved, 
particularly to strangers : when, however, he was in perfec 
health, and in such society as was quite congenial to his taste 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 251 

tliey were perfectly free and unembarrassed ; his conversa- 
tion was unrestrained and cheerful, and his whole deportment 
was the most polite and graceful, espeeially to females, to- 
wards whom he conducted himself, on all occasions, with the 
strictest delicacy and propriety. 

Much as Cowper was admired by those who knew him 
only as a writer, or as an occasional correspondent, he was 
infinitely more esteemed by his more intimate friends ; in- 
deed, the more intimately he was known, the more he was be- 
loved and revered. Nor was this affectionate attachment so 
much the result of his brilliant talents, as it was of the real 
goodness of his disposition, and gentleness of his conduct. 

Cowper was emphatically, in the strictest and most scrip- 
tural sense of the term, a good man. His goodness, how- 
ever, was not the result of mere effort, unconnected with 
Christian principles, nor did it arise from the absence of those 
evil dispositions of which all have reason, more or less, to 
complain ; on the contrary, all his writings prove that he felt 
and deplored the existence of evil affections, and was only 
able to suppress them by a cordial reception of the gospel of 
Christ, and the diligent use of those means enforced under 
that pure and self-denying dispensation. Nor was the good- 
ness of Cowper a mere negative goodness, inducing him only 
to avoid doing evil ; it is evident, from many passages, both 
from his poetic and prose productions, that he ever looked 
upon his talents, not as his own, but as belonging to Him 
from whom he had received them. Under the influence of 
this impression, all his best and most important original pro- 
ductions were unquestionably written. Desirous of com- 
municating to his fellow-men the same invaluable benefits 
which he had himself received from the simple yet sublime 
truths of Christianity, and incapable of attempting it in any 
other way than that of becoming an author, he took up his 
pen and produced those unrivalled poems, which, while they 
delight the mere literary reader for their elegance, beauty, 
and sublimity, are no less interesting to the Christian for the 
accurate and striking delineations of real religion, with which 
they abound. As long as the English language exists, they 
will most eagerly be sought after, both by the scholar and by 
the Christian. 

Cowper was warmly attached to the religion of the estab- 
lished church, in which he had been trained up, and which, 
like his friend Mr. Newton, he calmly and deliberately pre- 
ferred to any other. His attachment, however, was not that 
of the narrow-minded bitjot which blinds the mind to the ex- 



L 



252 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

cellencies of every other religious community ; on the contra- 
ry, it was the attachment of the firm and steady friend of reli- 
gious liberty, in the most liberal sense of the term. Of a sec- 
tarian spirit he was ever the open and avowed opponent. He 
sincerely and very highly respected the conscientious of all 
parties. In one of his letters to Mr. Newton, adverting to a 
passage in his writings that was likely to expose him to the 
charge of illiberality, he thus writes. " When I wrote the 
passage in question, I was not at all aware of any impro- 
priety in it. I am, however, glad you have condemned it ; 
and though T do not feel as if I could presently supply its 
place, shall be willing to attempt the task, whatever labour 
it may cost me ; and rejoice that it will not be in the power 
of the critics, whatever else they may charge me with, to ac- 
cuse me of bigotr}'^, or a design to make a certain denomina- 
tion odious at the hazard of the public peace. I had rather 
my book should be burnt, than a single line guilty of such a 
tendency should escape me." 

Cowper's attainments as a scholar were highly respectable ; 
he was master of four languages, besides his own : Greek, 
Latin, Italian, and French ; and though his reading was by 
no means so extensive as that of some, it was turned to bet- 
ter account, as he was a most thoughtful and attentive reader, 
and it was undoubtedly amply sufficient for every purpose, 
with a genius so brilliant and a mind so original as his. 

The productions of Cowper were eminently and entirely 
his own ; he had neither borrowed from nor imitated any one. 
He copied from none either as to his subjects, or the manner 
of treating them. All was the creation of his own inventive 
genius. Adverting to this circumstance, in one of his letters, 
he thus writes : — " I reckon it among my principal advantages 
as a composer of verses that I^have not read an English poet 
these thirteen years, and but one these twenty years. Imitation 
even of the best models is my aversion; it is a servile and mecha- 
nical trick, that has enabled many to usurp the name of author, 
who could not have written at all if they had not written upon the 
pattern of some original. But when the car, and the taste have 
been much accustomed to the style and manner of others, it is 
almost impossible to avoid it, and we imitate, in spite of our- 
selves, just in the same proportion as we admire." Cowper's 
mode of expressing his thoughts was entirely original. His 
blank-verse is not the blank-verse of Milton, or of any other 
poet. His numbers, his pauses, his diction, are all of his own 
growth, without transcription, and without imitation. If he 
thinks in a peculiar train, it is always as a man of genius, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 253 

and, what is better still, as a man of ardent and unaffected 
piety. His predecessors had circumscribed themselves, both 
in the choice and management of their subjects, by the obser- 
vance of a limited number of models, who were thought to 
have exhausted all the legitimate resources of the art. " But 
Cowper," says a great modern critic, "at once ventured to 
cross this enchanted circle, and thus regained the natural lib- 
erty of invention, and walked abroad in the open field of ob- 
servation as freely as those by whom it was original! )'■ trod- 
den. He passed from the imitation of poets to the imitation 
of nature, and ventured boldly upon the representation of ob- 
jects that none before him had imagined could be employed 
in poetic imagery. In the ordinary occupations, occurrences, 
and duties of domestic life, he found a multitude of subjects 
for ridicule and reflection, for pathetic and picturesque descrip- 
tion, for moral declamation and devotional rapture, that would 
have been looked upon with disdain or despair by all his pre- 
decessors. He took as wide a range in language too, as in 
matter; and shaking off the tawdry incumbrance of that poet- 
ical diction which had nearly reduced poetry to a skilful col- 
lection of a set of appropriated phrases, he made no scruple to 
set down in verse every expression that would have been ad- 
mitted in prose ; and to take advantage of all the varieties and 
changes of which our language is susceptible." 

It has been justl)^ remarked, " that between the poetry of 
Cowper and that of Dryden and Pope, and some of their suc- 
cessors, there is an immense difference. It would be easy to 
show how little he owed to his immediate forerunners, and 
how much his immediate followers have been indebted to him. 
All the cant phrases, all the technicalities of the former school, 
he utterly threw away; and by his rejection of them, they 
became obsolete. He boldly adopted cadences of verse un- 
attempted before, which, though frequently uncouth, and 
sometimes scarcely reducible to rhyme, were not seldom in- 
geniously significant and signally energetic. He feared not 
to employ colloquial, philosophical, judicial idioms, and forms 
of argument and illustration, which enlarged the vocabulary 
of poetical terms, less by recurring to obsolete ones,than by 
hazardous, and generally happy innovations of his own inven- 
tion, which have since become dignified by usage ; but which 
Pope and his imitators durst not have touched. The emi- 
nent adventurous revivers of English poetry, about thirty years 
ago, Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, in their blank- 
verse, trode directly in the steps of Cowper; and, in their 
early productions at least, were each in a measure what he 
22 



254 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

had made them. Cowper may be legitimately styled the 
father of this triumvirate, who are, in truth, the living fathers 
of an innumerable company of modern poets, whom no inge- 
nuity can well classify and arrange." 

The poetry of Cowper is in the highest degree deserving 
the honourable appellation of Christian Poetry. He conse- 
crated his muse to the service of that pure and self-denying 
religion, tanght by Christ and his apostles. In this respect 
his poems differed from the productions of any writers that 
had then appeared, with the exception of Milton and Young. 
Both these individuals, though they wrote on religious sub- 
jects, yet in all probability wrote principally for fame ; with 
Cowper, however, the desire of doing good predominated over 
every other feeling; and the hope of emolument, nay, even 
the love of fame itself, was looked upon as subordinate to 
this great object, the last to which poets generally pay any 
consideration. To Young, Cowper was evidently superior, 
in everything that constitutes real poetic excellence; and 
equal to Milton in the ease and elegance of his compositions, 
and in the vivacity and beauty of his imagery, though seldom, 
and perhaps never, rising to that majestic sublimity to which 
the author of Paradise Lost sometimes soared, and in which 
he stands unrivalled among modern, if not amongancient poets. 
Milton's matchless poem is a most sublime description of the 
great facts of the Christian system; every line of it fills the 
reader with surprise. Hurried on through a profusion of im- 
agery splendid and grand, and nev^er inelegant, tawdry orun- 
graceful, the mind becomes astonished, and is much more 
powerfully affected than the lieart. We look in vain for those 
touching appeals to the affections with which Cowper's poe- 
try abounds, Avhich come home to the bosoms and hearts of all. 

" Poet and Saint, to him is justly given. 
The t\vo most sacred names of earth and heaven." 

In the productions of Milton and Young, there is not much 
of practical, and still less of experimental, piet)% They con- 
fined themselves chiefly to the theor}- of religion. Cowper, 
on the contrary, whose views of the great leading truths of 
Christianity were equally, if not more comprehensive, de- 
scribes, with unequalled simplicity and beauty, those less 
splendid, but not less useful, parts of religion, which his pre- 
decessors had left almost untouched : hence the superiority 
of his muse to theirs in these respects. No uninspired ora- 
tor ever so happily and so strikinglj'' described the operations 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 255 

of Divine grace upon the human soul. The gospel had come 
home to him, not in word onljr, but in demonstration of the 
Spirit, and in power. He not only possessed a comprehen- 
sive knowledge of the Christian system, which enabled him, 
whenever he had occasion for it, to describe and illustrate, 
with all the force and beauty of poetic enchantment, that 
solid foundation on which the Christian builds his hopes, but 
he had himself felt the astonishing efficacy of these truths on 
the heart, when truly and cordially received. This accounts 
for the unrivalled felicity with which he describes the happy 
influence of Christianity in all cases where it is rightly em- 
braced, unless, as in his own case, its influence be prevented 
by some unaccountable bodily distemper. Treating the great 
peculiarities of the Christian system — the depravity of man 
— the necessity of regeneration — the efficacy of the atone- 
ment — access to God, through the Divine Spirit — justifi- 
cation by faith, with others of a like kind, not merely as 
subjects of inquiry, but as things wdiichhad been to him mat- 
ters of actual experience, it is no wonder that his muse some- 
times carried him to a depth of Christian feeling, unsung, 
and even unattempted before. As he himself, in his poem on 
Charity, beautifully sings — 

" When one tliat holds communion with the skies 
Has fiU'd liis urn, where tliese pure waters rise, 
And once more ming-les wltla us meaner thing's, 
'Tis e'n as if an angel sliook his wing's; 
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide. 
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied." 

" Cowper," as Mr. Hayleyjustly observes, " accomplished, 
as a poet, the sublimest object of poetic ambition, — he has dis- 
sipated the general prejudice that held it hardly possible for a 
modern author to succeed in sacred poetr)^ He has proved 
that verse and devotion are natural allies. He has shown that 
true poetical genius cannot be more honourably or more de- 
lightfully employed than in diffusing through the heart and 
mind of man a filial affection for his Maker, with a firm and 
cheerful trust in his word. He has sung in a strain, in some 
degree at least equal to the great subject, the blessed advent 
of the Messiah; and perhaps it will not be saying too much, 
to assert that his poetry will have no inconsiderable influence 
in preparing the world for the cordial reception of all the rich 
blessings which this event was intended to introduce." 

Up to the period when Cowper's productions were given 
to the world, it was foolishly imagined impossible success- 



256 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

fully to employ the graces and beauties of poetry on the side 
of virtue. A great modern critic had inconsiderately declared 
that " contemplative piety cannot be poetical." Had he as- 
serted onl)'', that it had very rarely been so, the assertion 
would not have been unjust. It would, indeed, have coin- 
cided with the views entertained by Cowper himself; for, 
of his predecessors' productions, with few exceptions, no one 
could have formed a more correct opinion, as will appear by 
the following lines : 

"Pity religion has so seldom found 
A skilful guide into poetic ground! 

Tlie flowers would spring where'er she deigned to stray, 
And every muse attend her in her way. 
Virtue indeed meets many a rliyming friend. 
And many a compliment politely penned; 
But unattired in tluit becoming- vest 
Religion weaves for her, and half undressed, 
Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn, 
A wintry figure, like a withered thorn." 

This censure, severely as it may fall on most of Cowper's 
predecessors, is not unjust. His muse, however, was the 
first to show that poetry, may be made the handmaid to reli- 
gion. When he gave to the world the productions of his un- 
rivalled pen, they saw, indeed, 

"a bard all fire, 

Touched with a coal from heaven, assume the lyre. 
And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, 
With more than mortal music on his tongue. 
That he who died below, and reigns above. 
Inspires the song, and th.it his name was love." 

Cowper's religious sentiments were undoubtedly Calvinis- 
tic, and though his views of divine truth were generally un- 
exceptionable, they were sometimes rather strongly tinged 
with the peculiarities of that system. On no occasion, how 
ever, that comes within our recollection, do we find him speak- 
ing of the character of God in such terms as would lead any, 
who were sincerely desirous of approaching Him in the way 
of his own appointment, to doubt of gracious reception at 
his hands. His own case, indeed, must be excepted, as his 
melancholy depression ever led him to regard himself as a 
solitary instance of the rejection of God and of the reversal 
of his decree. It could seldom, if ever, be inferred from any 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 257 

of his representations, that he thought the Divine Being-, 
by the mere exercise of his sovereignty, continued any of 
his creatures, except, indeed, it were himself, in a state of 
suffering in the present life, or placed them beyond tire means 
of escaping from misery, in the future. His views of the 
atonement and of the infinite extent of its efficacy, were such 
as led him, whenever he had occasion to advert to it, to re- 
present it truly, as a solid ground of hope and comfort, to 
every converted sinner, whatever might have been his cha- 
racter. He felt an entire conviction that he whose infinite 
compassion had prompted him to make provision for the re- 
storation of fallen man to his favour, intended it to be univer- 
sally beneficial ; and that the perverseness and obstinacy of 
men were the only reasons why it was not so. That he 
should have regarded his own case as an exception, and 
should, consequentl}^ have passed the greater part of his 
life in the bitterness of despair, is a difficulty which we are 
persuaded will, in the present life, for ever remain unaccount- 
ed for. To assert, as some have done, on no other foundation 
than that of mere opinion, that had he not been religious he 
would never have been melancholy, is utterly at variance with 
all the leading facts of his history. To every well regulated 
mind it will be abundantly evident, that whatever reasons 
may be assigned for the affecting peculiarity of his case, the 
deep concern he felt for religion could never have been the 
cause. On the contrary, it will appear clearly to have been 
much more likely to become the best preventive, as, in fact, 
the events of his life prove it to have been, though, owing to 
some unaccountable organic conformation, much less com- 
pletely than might have been hoped. 

No person was ever more alive to the benefits of real friend- 
ship, or had ever formed more correct conceptions of its obli- 
gations and delights. His inimitable stanzas, on this most 
interesting subject, which are perhaps superior to anything 
that has ever been written upon it, prove incontestibly that 
he understood what were its indispensable prerequisites, and 
his whole conduct through life shows that he felt the full 
force of that friendship which he so admirably described. It 
is difficult to make extracts from a poem, every line of which 
- is almost alike excellent, we cannot, however, deny ourselves 
the pleasure of presenting our readers with the following 
admirable lines :— 

" Who hopes a friend, should have a heart 
Himself, well furnished for the part 
And ready on occasion, 

22* 



258 THE LIFE OF WILLIA:*! COWPER. 

To show the virtue that he seeks ; 
For 'tis an union that bespeaks 
A just reciprocation. 

A man renowned for repartee 
Will seldom scruple to make free 

With friendsliip's finest feeling ; 
Will thrust a dagger at jour breast, 
And tell you 'twas a special jest, 

By way of balm for healing. 

Be\A^are of tatlers ! keep your ear 
Close stopt against the tales they bear. 

Fruits of their own invention ! 
The separation of chief friends 
Is what their business most intends, 

Their sport is your dissension. 

♦ Religion should extinguish strife, 
And make a calm of human life : 

But even those who differ 
Onl}'^ on topics left at large, 
How fiercely will tliey meet, and chai-ge ; 

No combatants are stiffer. 

Then judg'e, before you choose your man. 
As cu'cumspectly as you can ; 

And having made election, 
See that no disrespect of yours. 
Such as a friend but ill endures. 

Enfeeble his affection. 

As similarity of mind. 

Or something not to be defined, 

Fu'st rivets our attention ; 
So manners decent and polite. 
The same we practised at first sight. 

Must save it from declension. 

The man who hails you Tom, or Jack, 
And proves, by thumphig on your back. 

His sense of your gTeat merit ; 
Is such a friend, that one had need 
Be very much his friend indeed, 

To pardon, or to bear it. 

Some friends make this their prudent plan. 
Say little, and hear all you can; 
Safe policy, but hateful ! 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 259 

So barren sands imbibe <Jie shower, 

Bui render neither fruit nor flower 

Unpleasant and ungTateful. 

They wiiisper trivial thing's, and small ; 
But to communicate at all 

Things serious, deem improper. 
Their feculence and frotli they show, 
But keep their best contents below, 

Just like a simmering copper. 

Pursue the theme, and you will find 
A disciplin'd and furnisli'd mind 

To be at least expedient ; 
And, after summing all the rest. 
Religion ruling- in the breast, 

A principal ingredient. 

True fi'iendship has, in short, a grace, 
More than terrestrial in its face, 

That proves it heav'n-descended: 
Man's love of woman not so pure, 
Nor when sincerest, so secure, 

To last till life is ended." 

Cowper was, through life, the warm, though not the blind 
admirer of the British constitution ; and though he made no 
pretensions to the character of a politician, yet he took the 
liveliest interest in all that related to the honour and prospe- 
rity of his country. In one of his letters to Mr. Newton, he 
thus writes : — " I learned when I was a boy, being the son 
of a staunch Whig, and a man that loved his country, to glow 
with that patriotic enthusiasm which is apt to break forth 
into poetry, or at least to prompt a person, if he has any in- 
clination that way, to poetical endeavours. After I was grown 
up, and while I lived in the Temple, I produced several half- 
penny ballads, two or three of which had the honour of being 
popular. But unhappily, the ardour I felt upon the occasion, 
disdaining to be confined within the bounds of fact, pushed 
me upon uniting the prophetical with the poetical character, 
and defeated its own purpose. I am glad it did. The less 
there is of this sort in my productions the better. The stage 
of national affairs is such a fluctuating scene, that an event 
which seems probable to-da}' becomes impossible to-morrow ; 
and unless a man were indeed a prophet, he cannot, but with 
the greatest hazard of losing his labour, bestow his rhymes 



260 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

upon future contingencies, which perhaps are never to take 
place, hut in his own wishes and in the reveries of his own 
fancy." 

The time whicli Cowper bestowed upon his translation of 
Homer, and the indefatigable diligence with Avhich he la- 
boured in this great work, notwithstanding his melanchol}' 
depression, until he had completed it, prove that he was not 
easilj'' to be diverted from wliat he had once undertaken ; and 
that few men were equal, and perhaps none superior, to him, 
in those essential qualities of a truly great mind, — industry 
and perseverance. 

It might be imagined that Cowper's very retired manner 
of life, had deprived him of that manly independence of mind, 
which is a prime constituent in the character of every great 
man. Several incidents, however, are related of him, which 
go to prove that such was very far froin being tlie case. His 
conduct to ]Mr. Unwin and Mr. Newton, who both in their 
turns, at different times, thought themselves entitled to com- 
plain of some neglect, proves that he allowed not the affection 
of friendship to intrench upon his right to judge at all times 
for himself. Alluding to Mr. Newton's displeasure, he re- 
marks to another friend: — " If he says more on the subject, 
I shall speak freeljs and perhaps please him less than I have 
already done." Almost in the same breath, however, evinc- 
ing his deep knowledge of human nature, he adds: — "But 
we shall jumble together again, as people, who have an affec- 
tion for each other at the bottom, never fail to do." On one 
occasion, some friend having remarked to Cowper, that he 
knew a person wlio wished to see a sample of his verse, be- 
fore subscribing for his edition of Homer, he replied, — "that 
Avhen he dealt in wine, or cloth, or cheese, he would give sam- 
ples, but of verse never." The same independence he evinced 
on another occasion, writing to the friend whom he had em- 
ployed to negotiate for the publication of his second volume 
of poetry, he remarks: — "If Johnson shovild stroke his chin, 
look up to the ceiling, and cr)- nymph ! anticipate him, I 
beseech you, at once, b)'' sa3-ing, that you know I should be 
very sorry he should undertake for me to his own disadvan- 
tao'e, or that my volume should be in any degree pressed upon 
him." 

The depressive malady under which Cowper laboured 
through the greater part of his life, might naturally be sup- 
posed to have disqualified him entirely for the kind office of 
comforting those who were in distress : in truth, however^ 
no one had better learned the divine skill of strengthening 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 261 

the weak mind, of encouraging the timid and trembling be- 
liever, of lifting up the ■'.veak hands that were hanging down, 
wiping the tear of sorrow from the mournful eye, and direct- 
ing th'e Christian to look alone to heaven for support in all 
his difficulties. His poems abound with passages the most 
tender and consolatory ; enforcing with an eloquence, persua- 
sive and almost irresistible, humble submission to the Divine 
will, in circumstances the most discouraging. The following 
lines, forming part of a poetic epistle to a lady in France, 
show how admirably he could pour the healing oil of comfort 
into the wounded spirits of others, though he was unable to 
assuage the grief of Ijis own. 

" The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; 
No trav'ller ever reached that blessed abode 
Who found not thorns and briars on the road. 
The world may dance along- the flowery plain, 
Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain. 

But He, who knew what human heai*ts would prove 

How slow to learn the dictates of his love ; 

That hard by nature, and of stubborn will, 

A life of ease would make them harder stiU ; 

In pity to a chosen few, desig-ned 

To escape the common ruin of their kind, 

And said — Go spend them in the vale of tears ! 

Oh balmy gales of soul-reviving air. 

Oh salutary streams that murniur there. 

These flowing from the fount of grace above! 

Those breathed from lips of everlasting love ! 

Tlie flaity soil indeed their feet annoys, 

Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys, 

An envious world will interpose its frown. 

To mar deliglits superior to its own. 

And many a pang, experienced still within, 

Reminds them of their hated inmate, sin ! 

But ills of eveiy shape, of every name. 

Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim, 

And every moment's calm tlrat soothes the breast. 

Is given in earnest to eternal rest. 

Ah ! be not sad ! although tliy lot be cast 

Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste; 

No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, 

But the Chief Shepherd even there is near. 

Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 

Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; 



262 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine." 

Notwithstanding the almost unmitigated severity of Cow- 
per's sufferings, there were seasons in which he enjoyed 
some internal tranquillit}^ and was enabled to exercise a 
trembling, if not an unshaken confidence in the Almighty. 
It was undoubtedly on one of these occasions that he penned 
the following lines — 

" I see, or think I see, 
A glimmering from afar — 
A beam of day that shines for me 
To save me from despair. 
Forerunner of the sun, 
It marks the pilgrim's way : 
I'll gaze upon it while I run, 
And watch the rising day." 

Had it not been for Cowper's depressive malady, he would 
certainly have been, on all occasions, the most lively and 
agreeable companion. Even as it was, it must not be im- 
agined that in his conversation he was never sprightly and 
cheerful. Frequently, when his own heart was suffused 
with grief, arising from the severity and peculiarity of his 
malady, such an air of innocent pleasantry and humour, deli- 
cate and perfectly natural, ran through his conversation and 
correspondence, as could not fail to delight all who happened 
to be in his company, or who were occasionally favoured 
with the productions of his pen. It would be easy to pro- 
duce proofs of this, both from his poetic and prose produc- 
tions. His rhyming letter, to Mr. Newton, in which there 
is such a happy mixture of the grave and the gay, as no other 
writer could produce, evinces the occasional sprightliness of 
of^his mind. — "My very dear friend, I am going to send, 
what, when you have read, you may scratch your head, and 
say, I suppose there's nobody knows, whether what I have 
got, be verse or not ; by the tune and the time, it ought to be 
rhyme, but if it be, did ever you see, of late or yore, such a 
ditty before 1 

" I have writ charitj'', not for popularity, but as well as 
I could, in hopes to do good ; and if the reviewer, should say, 
to be sure, the gentleman's muse, wears Methodist shoes, 
you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she 
and her bard, have little regard, for taste and fashions, and 
ruling passions, and hoydening play, of the modern day ; and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 263 

though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and then 
wear a tittering air, 'tis only her plan to catch if she can, the 
giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a 
new construction ; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap, 
all that may come, with a sugar-plum. — His opinion in this 
will not be amiss ; 'tis what I intend, my principal end, and 
if I succeed, and folks should read till a few are brought to 
a serious thought, I shall think I am paid, for all I have said, 
and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after a 
rhyme, as far as from hence, to the end of my sense, and by 
hook or l)y crook, write another book, if I live and am here 
another year. 

" I have heard before, of a room with a floor, laid upon 
springs, and such like things, with so much art, in every 
part, that when you went in, you were forced to begin a 
minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now 
in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, 
without pipe or string, or any such thing ; and now I have 
writ, in a rhj^ming fit, what will make you dance, and as you 
advance, will keep you still, though against your will, danc- 
ing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end, of what I 
have penned, which that you may do, ere madam and you, are 
quite worn out, with jigling about, I take my leave, and here 
you receive, a bow profound, down to the ground, from your 
humble me, W. C." 

The following jeu d' esprit, written by the poet, as de- 
scriptive of one of his rural excursions, through the whole 
of which runs a strain of pleasantry, innocent, and perfectly 
natural, shows that his life was not one unbroken series of 
despair, but tliat he enjoyed, occasionally, at least, some 
lucid intervals, when, to gratify his friends, he would trifle 
in rhyme with an affectionate and endearing gaiety. As it 
has never been published in any of his works, the reader will 
not regret its having a place here. 

I sing- of a journey to Clifton,* 

We would have performed if we could; 
Without cart or barrow to lift on 
Poor Mary or me throug-h the mud, 
Sle, sla, slud. 
Stuck in the mud, 
Oh, it is pretty to wade through a flood. 



A village near Olney. 



264 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

So away we went slipping and sliding, 

Hop, hop, — a la mode de deux frogs ; 
'Tis near as good walking as riding, 
When ladies are dressed in their clogs. 
Wheels no doubt. 
Go briskly about, 
But they clatter, and rattle, and make such a rout. 

DIALOGUE. 

SHE. 

" Well — now I protest it is charming. 
How finely the weather improves ; 

That chad, though, is rather alarming, 
How slowly and stately it moves." 



" Pshaw ! never mind, 
'Tis not in the wind. 
We are travelling south and shall leave it behind." 



" I am glad we are come for an airing. 

For folks may be pomided and penn'd, 
UntU they grow rusty, not caring 
To stir half a mile to an end." 



•« The longer we stay, 
The longer we may ; 
It 's a folly to think about weather or way." 



*'But now I begin to be frighted. 

If I fall what a way I should i oil ! 
I am glad the bridge was indicted. 
Stay ! stop ! I am sunk in a hole." 



" Nay, never care, 
'Tis a common affair ; 
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 265 



" Let me breathe now a little and ponder, 
On what it were better to do : 
That terrible lane I see yonder, 

I think we shall never get through." 

HE. 

"So think I,— 
But by the bye, 
We shall never know, if we never should try.' 



"But should we get there, how shall we get home ; 
What a terrible deal of bad road we have pass'd, 
Slipping and sliding ; and if we should come 
To a difficult state, I am ruined at last. 
Oh, this lane ! 
Now it is plain, 
That struggling and striving is labour in vain." 

HE. 

" stick fast there, while I go and look." 

SHE, 

" Don't go away for fear I should fall ;" 



" I have examined it every nook, 

And what you have here is a sample of all : 
Come wheel around, 
The dirt we have found, 
Would by an estate at a farthing a pound." 

Now sister Ann,* the guitar you must take. 

Set it and sing it, and make it a song ^ 
I have varied the verse for variety's sake, 
And cut it off short because it v. as long. 
'Tis hobbling and lame. 
Which critics won't blame, 
For the sense and the sound they say should be tiie same. 

As a writer, Cowper's powers of description, both in 



* Lady Austen. 
23 



266 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

poetry and prose, were of the highest order ; equalled by few, 
and excelled by none. His richly cultivated mind, united 
to an imagination as brilliant as it was chaste, enabled him 
to paint the visible beauties of the material, as well as the 
ideal charms of the moral world, with an ease and felicity 
equally delightful. No one could describe the feelings of 
the heart with more vivid force, or know better how to levy 
contributions on the rich and varied scenes of nature. He 
possessed all the requisite qualifications for a poet of the 
highest class ; — a familiar acquaintance with the ancient 
classics; a comprehensive mind, well stored with accurate 
infonmation on almost every subject; a fertile genius ; a rich 
fancy ; an excursive, but chaste imagination to all which were 
added, an extensive knowledge of the varied feelings of the 
human heart, and a most devout regard to the solenm claims 
of religion. 

To take a comprehensive review cf the poet's original pro- 
ductions, in the order in which they appeared, would require 
a much greater space than it would be prudent to devote to 
it here. Table Talk is a dialogue, carried on with uncom- 
mon spirit and vivacity, in which a variety of most interest- 
ing topics are happily introduced and descanted on with great 
force and beauty. The Progress of Error is much more 
serious than its predecessor ; and though it contains passages 
of unrivalled excellence, it exhibits occasional marks of weak- 
ness, and is less beautiful than any other in the volume. 

Truth exhibits a wonderful combination of different powers, 
in which passages, humorous and affecting, are scattered 
with delightful profusion. 

Expostulation, founded on a sermon by Mr. Newton, is 
an impassioned appeal to men, in almost all conditions, on 
behalf of religion ; it abounds with imagery, grand, impres- 
sive, and awful, exhibiting proofs of the poet's deep acquaint- 
ance with the inspired prophetic records. Hope is less im- 
passioned than its predecessor, hut not less beautiful. It is 
written throughout with great elegance, beauty, and force, 
and the sentiments it breathes are purely evangelical. Chari- 
ty is a poem of less vigour, but equally instructive, admoni- 
tory, and delightful. 

In Conversation, the poet appears in the character of a 
teacher of manners, as well as of morals, and delineates with 
exquisite and unerring skill, many of the follies and frailties 
of life. The loquacious — the incommunicative — the noisy 
and tumultuous — the disputatious — the scrupulous and irre- 
solute — the furious and intractable — the ludicrous — the cf.n- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 267 

sorious — the peevish — the bashful — with others of similar 
kind, may here find their character drawn by the pen of a 
master, in the liveliest colours, and with striking accuracy. 

Many excellent and judicious remarks are to be found in 
this admirable poem, ou the manner in which conversation, 
to make it really edifying, must be carried on ; and the cer- 
tain benefits resulting from it, where it is so conducted, are 
forcibly and clearly pointed out. 

Retirement, will be read with delight by all, but espe- 
cially by those who are looking forward to that season when — 

" Hackney'd in business, wearied at that oar, 
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more. 
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low. 
All wish, or seem to wish, they could foreg-o." 

The poet happily ridicules the fallacy of supposing it im- 
possible to be pious while following the active pursuits of 
life, 

" Truth is not local, God alike pervades 
And fills the world of traffic and the shades, 
And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes. 
Or scoi'n'd whei-e business never intervenes." 

In the same happy strain he exposes the absurdity of seek- 
ing retirement as an excuse for indolence. 

" An idler is a watch that wants both hands, 
As useless if it goes as when it stands. 

• * • * » 

Absence of occupation is not rest; 

A mind quite vacant is a mind distrest." 

The Task, however, is by far the poet's greatest produc- 
tion, and had he written nothing else, would have immor- 
talized his name, and given him a place among the highest 
class of poets. Here his muse kindled into its happiest in- 
spirations, and burst forth into its sublimest strains. Com- 
mencing with objects the most familiar, and in a manner 
inimitably playful, the poet touches on a vast variety of sub- 
jects, many of them unsung, and unattempted before, scat- 
tering wherever he goes 

" From grave to gay, from lively to severe," 

an exuberance of beauty and elegance, that enchains the rea- 



268 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

der, carrying him through the muse's adventurous track, with- 
out the least restraint, and without feeling a moment's unea- 
siness. The transitions are the happiest imaginable; after 
delineating one object with matchless felicity and force, pre- 
senting it in shapes almost endlessly diversified, ere he is 
aware of it, another and another starts up before the reader, 
with magical effect, but without the slightest confusion, or 
the least violation of perspicuity. This admirable poem may 
be repeatedly read with increasing delight. It yields an al- 
most inexhaustible source of pleasure and instruction. The 
reader rises from its perusal, not only filled with astonishment 
at the mighty powers of its author, but what is of equal, and 
perhaps of greater importance, with feelings of the most un- 
feigned esteem for the poet, and with sentiments of benevo- 
lence towards all mankind. 

The letters of Cowper are unquestionably among the best 
productions of this interesting class of writings that are to 
be found in the English language. Easy and natural, and 
everywhere simple and elegant, without the slightest affecta- 
tion of formality, or the most distant approach to that studied 
and artificial style, which invariably destroys the beauty of 
such productions, they never fail to interest and delight the 
reader; and will ever be regarded as perfect models of epis- 
tolary correspondence. Their peculiar charm is, perliaps, to 
be attributed chiefly, if not entirely, to that affectionate glow 
of pure friendship, by which they are so pre-eminently dis- 
tinguished. Fascinating as they are to every reader of taste, 
for the chaste, yet unornamented style in which they are com- 
posed ; for their easy and natural transitions ; and for their 
concise, yet sufficiently copious descriptions, it is to that 
sprightly and genuine affection which runs through the whole 
of them, causing the reader to peruse them with almost as 
much interest as if they were addressed to him personally, 
that they are principally indebted for their claim to supe- 
riority. 

To the above remarks on Cowper's letters, we have great 
pleasure in adding the following testimony of the late distin- 
guished scholar and writer, the Rev. Robert Hall of i5ristol, 
whose eloquence was unrivalled, and whose powers being 
all consecrated to the cause of religion, rendered him an or- 
nament to the age in which he lived. In a letter to Rev. J. 
Johnson, Cowper's justly esteemed relative, he thus writes: 
" It is quite unnecessary to say that I perused the letters with 
great admiration and delight. I have always considered the 
letters of Mr. Cowper as the finest specimens of the episto- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 269 

lary style ia our language. To an air of inimitable ease and 
carelessness, they unite a high degree of correctness, such 
as could result only from the clearest intellect, combined with 
the most finished taste. I have scarcely found a single word 
which is capable of being exchanged for a better. Literary 
errors I can discern none. The selection of the words, and 
the structure of the periods, are inimitable ; they present as 
striking a contrast as can well be conceived, to the turgid 
verbosity which passes at present for fine writing, and which 
bears a great resemblance to the degeneracy which marks the 
style of Ammianus Marcellinus, as compared to that of Ci- 
cero or Livy. A perpetual effort and struggle is made to 
supply the place of vigour; garish and dazzling colours are 
substituted for chaste ornament; and the hideous distortions 
of weakness for native strength. In my humble opinion, the 
study of Cowper's prose may, on this account, be as useful 
in forming the taste of young people as his poetry." 

Poets have almost invariably been charged with adulation, 
whenever they have ventured to eulogize an individual, how- 
ever much he may have been distinguished by his virtues and 
his talents. In many cases, they have undoubtedly richly me- 
rited this censure; but there are some honourable exceptions, 
and amongst this class Cowper is pre-eminently distinguished. 
Of this wicked and foolish practice he had the utmost abhor- 
rence ; and in some instances it may be doubted whether he 
did not carry his aversion to flattery, almost to an opposite 
extreme; withholding praise where he knew it was due. 
The following lines occur almost at the commencement of his 
Table Talk. After painting the portrait of that most virtuous 
monarch, George the Third, in language as just as it is beau- 
tiful, he abruptly exclaims, 

" Guard what yovi say; the patriotic tribe 
Will sneer, and charg^e you with a bribe — a bribe! 
The worth of his three kingdoms I defy 
To lure me to tlie baseness of a lie: 
And of all lies, (be that one poet's boast,) 
The lie that flatters, I abhor the most." 

In the character of Cowper there was not the slighest par- 
ticle of ostentation; on no occasion did he assume any airs 
of consequence; he never aimed, or wished to be what he 
was not. Everything in the shape of affectation was the ob- 
ject of his disgust. He loved simplicity without rudeness, 
and detested that squeamish mimicry of fine feeling which 

23* 



270 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

not unfrequently, either under the assumed garb of superior 
sanctity, or of ardent friendship, conceals the most pitiable 
imbecility and ignorance. 

It must be acknowledged that Cowper sometimes dipped 
his pen in gall. vSome expressions the most bitterly sarcastic 
are to be found in his poems. Of his first volume it was said, 
by one of his friends, " There are many passages delicate, 
many sublime, many beautiful, many tender, many sweet, 
and many acrimonious." Cowper's satire, however, though 
keen and powerful as a whip of scorpions, was employed only 
to expose and punish the openly profligate, and the hypo- 
critical professors of religion. Everything in the shape of 
deception he ever held in perfect detestation. The castiga- 
tion of vice, of ignorance, or of dissimulation, was his object, 
when he became a satirist. If he held up philosophy to ridi- 
cule, it was that glare of false philosophy, which, instead of 
being beneficial to men, only led them from the plain and 
beaten track of truth, into paths of error and misery. He 
never wantonly, for the sake onlj' of his own gratification, 
inflicted his satiric lash on a single individual. He became 
a satirist, not to give vent to a waspish, revengeful, and 
malicious disposition, (to feelings of this kind he was an en- 
tire stranger,) but for the same purpose as the holy prophets 
of old were satirists to expose, in mercy to mankind, the 
hideous deformit)'- of those vices, which have ever been the 
fruitful parents of misery to mankind. 

The exquisite sensibility of Cowper, and the real goodness 
of his disposition, with his entire abhorrence of cruelty, 
whether practised by man towards his own species, or to- 
wards any part of the Creator's works, are evinced bj'^ the 
following striking lines. 

"I would not enter on my list of friends, 
Thoug-li graced witli polislied manners and fine sense. 
Yet wanting spnsibllit\', the man 
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
An inadvertant step may crush the snail 
That crawls at evening in the public path; 
But he that has Inmianity, forewarned, 
Will tread aside, and let the reptile five. 
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
To love it too. The spring-time of our years 
Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most 
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 
To check them. But, alas I none sooner shoots. 
If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth 



THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 271 

Than cruelty, most devilish of them all ! 

Mercy, to him that shows it, is the rule 

And righteous limitation of its art, 

By which Heaven moves in pardoning- guilty man; 

And he that shows none, being i-ipe in years, 

And conscious of the outrage he commits. 

Shall seek it, and not find it, in liis turn. 

Distinguished much by reason, and still more 

By our capacity of grace divine, 

From creatures that exist but for our sake, 

Wliich, having served us, perish, we are held 

Accountable: and God, some future day. 

Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 

Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust!" 

Liberty has always been the soul-itispiring theme of poets. 
On no subject has the muse sung in sweeter strains, or tower- 
ed to more sublime heights. Covvper has given ample proofs 
that his muse felt all the fire of this ennobling theme. In his 
Table Talk, some beautiful lines will be found on this inte- 
resting subject, so dear to the heart of every Englishman; 
but in his most masterly production, the Task, he thus 
sings — 

" 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
Of fleeting' life its lustre and perfume; 
And we are weeds without it. All constraint 
Except what wisdom lays on evil men. 
Is evil : hurts the faculties, impedes 
Their progress in the road of science; blinds 
The eyesight of discovery; and begets 
In those that suffer it a sordid mind, — 
Bestial — a meagre intellect, unfit 
To be the tenant of man's noble form. 
Thee, therefore, still, blameworthy as thou art. 
Thee I account still happy, and the chief 
Among the nations, seeing thou art free. 
My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is rude, 
Replete with vapours, and disposes much 
All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine; 
Yet, being- free, I love thee for the sake 
Of that one feature, can be well content, 
Disgraced as tliou hast been, poor as thou art. 
To seek no sublunary rest beside. 
But once enslaved, farewell. I could endure 
Chains nowhere patiently; and cliains at home, 
Where I am free by birthright, not at all!" 



273 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

The liberty of Cowper was not, however, that lawless 
restraiat which, under the sacred name of liberty, would 
burst- asunder all those bands that hold society together, and 
introduce confusion infinitely more to be dreaded than the 
most absolute despotism. It was not the wild and unre- 
strained liberty of the ferocious mob ; it was the liberty that 
is compatible with wholesome restraint, and with the due 
administration of law. It was the liberty not of disorder 
but of discipline, as will be seen by the following beautiful 
lines^ 

"Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts; 
Let magistrates alert perform their parts, 
Not skulk, or put on a prudential mask, 
As if their duty was a desperate task. 
Let active laws apply the needful curb. 
To g-uard the peace that riot would disturb ; 
And liberty, preserved from wild excess, 
Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. 
When Tumult lately burst his prison dooi'. 
And set plebeian thousands in a roar. 
When he usurped Authority's just place, 
And dared to look his master in the face,- 
When the rude rabble's watch-word was — ' Destroy!* 
And blazing London seemed a second Troy ! 
Liberty blushed, and hung her drooping head — 
Beheld their progress with the deepest di-ead ; 
Blushed that effects like these she could produce, 
Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves let loose; 
She loses in such storms her very name, 
And fierce Licentiousness should bear tlie blame !" 

Powerful as were the charms of subjects like these to Cow- 
per, there were others of a different character which he held 
as more dear, and ever regarded as more important. Like his 
great predecessor, Milton, he had made the sacred scriptures 
his constant study ; not so much because he admired the 
sublime imagery of the holy penmen, (alive as he was to their 
beauties in this respect,) as because he felt the full force of 
divine truth upon his heart ; which, notwithstanding the se- 
vere pressure of his malady, would sometimes yield him an 
interval of pleasure. It was undoubtedly on one of these 
happy occasions that he penned the following lines, so strik- 
ingly descriptive of the refined pleasure with which the^ 
Christian can view the works of nature. 

"He looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature; and though poor, perhaps, compared 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 273 

With those whose mansions g'litter in his sight, 

Calls the delighful scenery all his own: 

His are the mountains, and the valleys his. 

And the resplendent rivers: his to enjoy 

With a propriety that none can feel, 

But who, with filial confidence inspired, 

Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 

And smiling say — My Father made them all ! 

Are they not his by a peculiar right ? 

And by an emphasis of interest his 

Whose eyes they fill with tears of holy joy ; 

Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 

With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love 

That planned, and built, and still upholds a world 

So clothed with beauty for rebellious man ? 

Yes ! Ye may fill your gfirners, ye that reap 

The loaded soil ; and ye may waste much good 

In senseless riot; but ye will not find 

In feast, or in tlie chase, in song or dance, 

A liberty like his, who, unimpeached 

Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong 

Appropriates nature as his Father's work, 

And has a i-icher use of yours than you." 

Although Cowper, towards the close of his life, before he 
received his Majesty's pension, owing to the heavy expenses 
occasioned by his own and Mrs. Unwin's illness, was scarcely 
able to keep his expenditure within the limits of his income, 
yet he was never once heard to complain, nor even to indulge 
the slightest disposition to be otherwise than contented in the 
station where Providence had placed him. Writing to his 
intimate friend, Mr. Hill, on one occasion, whom he appears 
to have made his treasurer, he remarks : — " Your tidings 
respecting the slender pittance yet to come, are, as you ob- 
serve, of a melancholy cast. Not being gifted, however, by 
nature with the means of acquiring much, it is well that she 
has given me a disposition to be contented with little. I 
have now been so many j'ears habituated to small matters, 
that I should probably find myself incommoded by greater, 
and, may I but be enabled to shift, as I have been hitherto, 
unsatisfied wishes will not trouble me much." 

On another occasion, to the same individual he writes; — 
" I suppose you are sometimes troubled on my account, but 
you need not. I have no doubt that it will be seen, when 
my days are closed, that I served a Master who would not 
suffer me to want anj^thing that was good for me. He said 



274 THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM COWPER. 

to Jacob, ' I will surely do thee good ;' and this he said not 
for his sake only, but for ours also, if we trust in him. This 
thought relieves me from the greatest part of the distress I 
should else suffer in my present circumstances, and enables 
me to sit down peacefully upon the wreck of my fortune." 
The same sentiment is still more forcibly expressed in the 
following lines : — 

" Fair Is the lot that's cast for me ; 
I have an Advocate with Thee : 
They whom the world caresses most 
Have no such privilege to boast. 
Poor tliougli I am, despised, forgot, 
Yet God, my God, forgets me not ; 
And he is safe, and must succeed. 
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead." 

Perhaps no individual ever felt more fully the power of 
religion in his heart, or embodied it more completely in his 
life, than Cowper. The apprehensions, for his ultimate safety, 
by which he was so continually harassed, depressive as was 
their influence on his mind, never relaxed, in any degree, 'that 
severe watchfulness which religion had taught him to exer- 
cise over his thoughts and conduct. On the contrary, they 
seem rather to have operated as a continual check upon those 
corrupt inclinations which are common to our fallen nature? 
and to which, even Cowper, was not a stranger. It would 
be ridiculous to say he had no imperfections ; he felt them ; 
he often mourned over them, and the vivid perception he had 
of them, associated, as it invariably was, with a powerful 
constitutional tendency to melancholy, often filled him with 
the greatest anxiety and dread. His conceptions of the purity 
of that sublime religion taught us in the gospel, and of the 
paramount importance of a holy life in its professors, were 
such as led him to regard the least deviation from the strict 
line of christian duty, in his own case at least, as an entire 
disqualification for the reception of spiritual comfort. No 
individual's conscience was ever more tremblingly alive to 
the importance of habitual watchfulness and uniform consis- 
tency of conduct. He could make ample allowances for the 
imperfections of others, but nothing could prevail upon him 
to make any for his own. 

The notice we have already taken of Cowper's productions, 
renders it unnecessary that we should view them any further 
in detail. We cannot, however, suppress the following ad- 
mirable observations of an anonymous critic, subjoined to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 275 

Mr. Hayle3f's life of Cowper. " The noblest benefits and 
delisrhts of poetry can be but rarely produced, because all the 
requisites for producing them so seldom meet. A vivid mind 
and happy imitative power, may enable a poet to form glow- 
ing pictures of virtue, and almost produce in himself a short- 
lived enthusiasm of goodness. But although even these 
transient and factitious movements of mind may serve to pro- 
duce grand and delightful effusions of poetry, yet when the 
best of these are compared with the poetic productions of a 
genuine lover of virtue, a discerning judgment will scarcely 
fail to mark the difference. A simplicity of conception and 
expression; a conscious and therefore unaffected dignity; an 
instinctive adherence to sober reason, even amid the highest 
flights; an uniform justness and consistency of thought; a 
glowing, yet temperate ardour of feeling; a peculiar felicity, 
both in the choice and combination of terms, by which even 
the plainest words acquire the truest character of eloquence, 
and which is rarely to be found except where a subject is not 
only intimately known, but cordially loved ; these, I conceive, 
are the features peculiar to the real votary of virtue, and which 
must of course give to his strains a perfection of effect never 
to be attained by the poet of inferior moral endowments. I 
believe it will be granted that all these qualities were never 
more perfectly combined than in the poetry of Milton. And 
I think, too, there will be little doubt that the next to him, 
in every one of these instances, beyond all comparison, is 
Coivper. The genius of the latter did certainly not lead him 
to emulate the songs of the Seraphim. But though he pur- 
sues a lower walk of poetry than his great master, he appears 
no less the enraptured votary of pure unmixed goodness. 
Nay, perhaps he may in this one respect possess some pecu- 
liar excellences which may make him seem more the bard of 
Christianitjr. That divine religion infinitely exalts, but it also 
deeply humbles the mind it inspires. It gives majesty to the 
thoughts, but it impresses meekness on the manners, and 
diffuses tenderness through the feelings. It combines sensi- 
bility and fortitude, the lowliness of the child, and the mag- 
nanimity of the hero." 

" The grandest features of the Christian character were 
never more gloriously exemplified than in that spirit which 
animates the whole of Milton's poetry. His own Michael 
does not impress us with the idea of a purer, or more awful 
virtue than that which we feel in every portion of his majes- 
tic verse ; and he no less happily indicates the source from 
which his excellence was derived, by the bright beams which 



276 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

he ever and anon reflects upon us from the sacred Scriptures. 
But the milder graces of the gospel are certainly less appa- 
rent. What we hehold is so awful, it might almost have 
inspired a wish, that a spirit, equally pure and heavenly, 
might he raised to illustrate, with like felicity, the more 
attractive and gentler influences of our divine religion. In 
Cowper, above any poet that ever lived, would such a wish 
seem to he fulfilled. In his charming eff"usions we have the 
same spotless purity, the same elevated devotion, the same 
vital exercise of every noble and exalted quality of the mind, 
the same devotedness to the sacred Scriptures, and to the 
peculiar doctrines of the gospel. The difference is, that in- 
stead of an almost reprehensive dignity, we have the sweetest 
familiarity; instead of the majestic grandeur of the Old Tes- 
tament, we have the winning graces of the New; instead of 
those thunders by which angels were discomfited, we have, 
as it were, the still small voice of Him who was meek and 
lowly of heart. May we not then venture to assert, that from 
that spirit of devoted piety, -which has rendered both these 
great men liable to the charge of religious enthusiasm, but 
which, in truth, raised the minds of both to a kind of happy 
residence 

' In reg-ions mild, of calm and serene au% 

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, 

Which men call earth — ' 

a peculiar character has been derived to the poetry of them 
both, which distinguishes their compositions from those of 
almost all the world besides. I have already enumerated 
some of the superior advantages of a truly virtuous poet, and 
presumed to state, that these are realized, in an unexampled 
degree, in Milton and Cowper. That they both owed this 
eminence to their vivid sense of religion, will, I conceive, need 
no demonstration, except what will arise to every reader of 
taste and feeling on examining their works. It will here, I 
think, be seen at once, that that sublimity of conception, that 
delicacy of virtuous feeling, that majestic independence of 
mind, that quick relish for all the beauties of nature, at once 
so pure and so exquisite, which we find ever occurring in 
them both, could not have existed in the same unrivalled de- 
gree, if their devotion had been less intense, and of course, 
their minds more dissipated amongst low and distracting ob- 
jects." 

To the above remarks on the poet's character, we cannot 
forbear subjoining the two following exquisite pictures of 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 277 

him, one drawn undesignedly by himself, and the other by 
Lhe Rev. Dr. Randolph, of Bath, on seeing his portrait by 
Lawrence. 

"Nature, exerting- an unwearied power, 
Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower; 
But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 
Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence — 
Fervenc}', freedom, fluency of thought. 
Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought ; 
Fancy, that from the bow that forms the sky. 
Brings colours dipt in heaven, that never die; 
A soul exalted above earth ; a mind 
Skilled in the characters that form mankind; 
And as the Sun, in rising beauty di-est. 
Looks to the westward from the dappled east. 
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose 
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close ; 
And eye like his, to catch the distant goal ; 
Or ere the wheels of verse begin to I'oll, 
Like his to shed illuminating rays 
On every scene and subject it surveys : 
Thus graced, the man asserts a poet's name, 
And the world cheerfully admits the claim." 

COWPEII. 

" Sweet Bai'd. whose mind, thus pictured in thy face, 
O'er every feature spreads a nobler grace; 
Whose keen but softened eye appears to dart 
A look of pity through the human heart: 
To search the secrets of man's inward frame ; 
To weep with sorrow o'er his guilt and shame; 
Sweet Bard, with whom, in sympathy of choice, 
I've oft-times left the world, at Nature's voice. 
To join the song that all the creatures raise 
To carol forth their great Creator's praise; 
Or, wrapt in visions of immortal day. 
Have gazed on Truth in Zion's heavenly way. 
Sweet Bard, may this, thine image, all I know. 
Or ever may, of Cowper's form below, 
Teach one who views it with a Christian's love 
To seek and find thee in the realms above." 

Rev. Dr. Randolph. 
24 



NEW AND POPULAR WORKS, 

FTTBIISHEO 

BY KEY ^ BIDDLE, 

23 Minor Street. 



GREAT NATIONAL WORK. 
Key U Biddle have in course of publication, 
A HISTORY OF THE INDIAN TRIBES OF 
NORTH AMERICA, with Biographical Sketches and 
Anecdotes of the Principal Chiefs. Embellished with 120 
Portraits, from the Indian Gallery in the Department of War 
at Washington. By Col. T. L. M'Kenney, 

The public are aware that a most interesting and curious 
collection of Indian Portraits has been making since 1821, 
by the Executive of the United States; and that this collec- 
tion forms a gallery in the Indian department at Washing- 
ton, numbering at this time about one hundred and twenty 
heads. The interest felt in this effort to preserve the like- 
nesses and costume of our aborigines — a work so intimately- 
connected with the natural history of Man, is indicated by 
the immense numbers of citizens and foreigners, who 
visit the gallery ; and the uniform admiration they express of 
its valuable and interesting character. Believing the public 
will sustain the undertaking, the undersigned have made 
arrangements for publishing this unique group. That no- 
thing might be lost, the size of most of the original drawings 
have been preserved. The original drawings, it may be pro- 
per to remark, are principally by King, of Washington, from 



2 NEW ANB 

life; and will be vouched by responsible names, to heperfeci 
likenesses. 

An Essay suited to such a work, and calculated to throw 
a light upon the history of this interesting people, will ac- 
company the first number; and as materials will authorize 
it, the remaining numbers will be interspersed with biogra- 
phical sketches, andanecdotes of the original, and with a vo- 
cabulaire. 

This part of the undertaking will be executed by Colonef 
M'Kenney, of the Indian Department, whose long and fa- 
miliar intercourse with our Indian relations, and travels over 
the country inhabited by mostof the tribes, and j)ersonal know, 
ledge of most of the originals, fit him peculiarly for the task. 

The work will be completed in twenty numbers — each 
number will contain six heads handsomely coloured. Terms 
of subscrifition, six dollars per number, payable in advance. 

The publishers avail themselves of the following flattering 
notice ot this design, in a letter from Dr. Sparks, editor of 
the North American Review, to Col. M'Kenney. From a 
gentleman so distinguished as Dr. Sparks, so well, and so 
deservedly appreciated for his high standing and attainments, 
his taste and science, and with such enlarged opportunities of 
judging of the importance of such a work, such a letter is 
very encouraging. 

" My dear sir, 

" I am heartily rejoiced to learn by your favour of the 22<i 
instant, that tiiere is so good a prospect for publishing the 
portraits of the red men. I do not consider that 1 have any 
claim, growing out of our conversation, and, indeed, as my 
only motive was to be instrumental in bringing before the 
public, so rare and curious a collection, it is a double satis- 
faction lor me to know, that the matter is in so good hands, 
and encourages hopes of entire success. In my mind, the 
whole glory and value of the undertiiking, will depend on 
the accuracy and beauty, with which the heads shall be exe- 
cuted, and the completeness of the costume. You must write 
all that is known about the character and life of each person. 
Let us have a work wortliy of the subject, and honourable 
to the nation, and just to the Indians. 

" Very sincerely your friend and obedient servant, 
(Signed) " Jarjcd Sparks.'.' 

Th. L. M'Krnney, Esa. 

It is in reference to the foregoing work that Peter S. Du- 
ponceau, Esq., the enlightened scholar and profound civilian, 
thus expresses himself: 



POPULAR WORKS. 3 

»' Dear Sir, 

"Philadelphia, 23tk May, 1831. 

" I can not express to j'ou how delii;l)ted I was, when I 
Was kindly shown by Col. ChiUls, the fuc similies of the por- 
traits of some of our Indian Chiefs, which he has alreaily 
prepared for your great and truly National work, and is such 
an one as would do honour to the greatest sovereign of Eu- 
rope. It has often occurred to my mind, that such a work 
would have added much to the glory of tlie late Emperor 
Alexander, of Russia; and I yet wonder, that his friemlsdid 
not suggest to liim the idea of beginning a cal>inet, or rather 
a museum of the natural history of man, by collecting either 
in wax figures, or in paintings, in an immense hail, or gal- 
lery, exact likenesses, representing the shapes, colour, and 
features, as well as the various costumes of the numerous 
nations and tribes that inhabit his empire. I am glad he did 
not do it, and that our country will have the honour of laying 
the first foundation of an edifice, which must sooner or later 
be erected to the most important of all sciences, the know- 
ledge of our own species. The day will come, I have no 
doubt, when by the exertions of patriots in republics like our 
own, and the munificence of monarchs in other countries, the 
philosopher will have it in his power to take a view at one 
glance of the different races of mankind, their genera, spe- 
cies and varieties in well executed effigies, and thus to test 
the numerous theories to which differences have given rise. 

We are going then to begin by exhibiting the red race. 
Your knowledge of the Indian Tribes is not rnerely theoreti- 
cal; you have lived among them, and have had the means of 
becoming familiar with their habits, manners, and customs, 
as well as of their languages, therefore the historical part of 
this undertaking could not be confided to better hands. 

" The aborigines of the United States will soon disappear 
from the face of the earth. I am unwilling to dwell upon 
this topic, so disgraceful to the white race — to the Christian 
race to which 1 belong — one consolation only remains. 
By means of this great work, the effigies of those former 
lords of the American soil, will at least after their destruc- 
tion, serve the purposes of philosophy and science, as the 
bodies of murdered men in the hands of the surgeon, serve 
those of humanity. 

" I am, respectfully, your friend 

and servant, 
" Peter S. Duponceao, 

■"Thomas L, McKenney, Esq,." 



4 NEW AND 

AN ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG, ON THE IM- 
PORTANCE OF RELIGION. By John Foster, au- 
thor of Essays on Decision of Character, &c. 

This is a good publication, well conceived and admirably 
executed, full of important truths and beautifully enforced. 

Our readers know, or ought to know John Foster, the Au- 
thor of "Essays on Decision of Character," one of the best 
writers that England has produced, suited to be compared in 
many things with Robert Hall, he needs no higher praise. — 
U. S. Gazette. 

This work comprises a series of eloquent and affectionate 
exhortations, which, if carefully attended to, will ntake wise 
and good men of all who lay them to heart, and endeavour 
to accord with them in life and conversation. The author 
has acquired great celebrity by his former writings. — Satur- 
day Courier. 

We are not going to hold a rush-light up to a book of John 
Foster's, but only mean to tell what is its intent. It is an 
awakening appeal to youth of the refined and educated sort, 
upon the subject of their personal religion. There can be no 
doubt as to its currency. — The Presbyterian. 

John Foster is allowed by men of all parties, political and 
religious, to be one of the most oritjinal and vigorous think- 
ers of the age. His well tried talents, his known freedom 
from cant and fanaticism. And the importance of the sub- 
ject discussed, strongly commend this Book to the attention 
of that interesting class to whom it is addressed. All his 
writings are worthy of careful and repeated perusal; but his 
essay on " Decision of Character" and this " Address to the 
Young," should be the companions of all young persons who 
are desirous of intellectual and moral improvement. 

Foster's Address to the Young. — Perhaps no reli- 
gious book has issued from the American press which 
commanded more general and abundant patronage than 
one from the pen of the Rev. Jared Waterbury, called 
" Advice to a Young Christian." Aside from its intrinsic 
excellence, it was rendered valuable by the fact that it was 
exactly ada[)ted to a particular class of society ; and all who 
wish to make an impression upon that class, was apprised 
by its very title that it was designed to be subservient to such 
a purpose. A work of precisely such a character from the 
pen of the celebrated Foster, and designed to operate upon a 



I'OPULAR WORKS. 5 

different class of persons, will be found in the one of which 
the caption of this article is the title-page. The name of its 
author will supersede the necessity for all eulogium to those 
who have not read it, and to those who have, the book will 
abundantly commend itself Permit me to direct to it the 
attention of such of your readers as may have careless young 
friends, into whose hands they would desire to place a so- 
lemn, affectionate, and fervent appeal on the indispensable 
necessity of religion. It is just published by Key and Bid- 
die, of this city, and can, I presume, be procured at any of 
the book-stores. May the great Head of the Church make 
it instrumental in the conversion of many souls. — Episcopal 
Recorder. 

A MOTHER'S FIRST THOUHGTS. By tlie au- 
thor of "Faith's Telescope." 

This is a brief miniature, from an Edinburgh edition. 
Its aim is to furnish religious Meditations, Prayers, and 
Devotional Poetry for pious mothers. It is most highly 
commended in the Edinburgh Presbyterian Review, and in 
the Christian Advocate. 'I'he author, who is a Lady of 
Scotland, unites a deep knowledge of sound theology, with 
no ordinary talent for sacred poetry. — The Presbyterian. 

"A Mother's First Thoughts," is a little work of great 
merit. It breathes a spirit of pure and fervent piety, and 
abounds in sound and salutary instruction. It contains also 
some excellent poetry. — Saturday Courier. 

A Mother's First Thoughts. By the author of " Faith's 
Telescope," 12 mo. p. 223. Key & Biddle, Piiiladelphia, 
1833. A neat pocket edition which will commend itself to 
all parents who have the rigiit direction of the minds of their 
children at heart. It is dedicated to religious mothers, " and 
may He," says tiie author, " who alone can, render it, in 
some degree, conducive to their cdiBcdlion.''— -Journal of 
Belles Ldettres. 

BRIDGE'S ALGEBRA, 12 mo. In this work the 
hitherto abstract and difficult science of Algebra is simphfied 
and illustrated so as to be attainable by the younger class of 
learners, and by those who have not the aid of a teacher. It 
is already introduced into the University of Pennsylvania, at 
Philadelphia; and the Western University at Pittsburgh 
*\ 



6 NEW AND 

It is also the text book of Gummere's School at Burlington, 

and of a great number of the best schools throughout the 

United States. It is equally adapted to common schools and 

colleges. 

Messrs. Key &Biddle have published in a very neat form, 
the 1st American, from the 6th London Edition of Bridge's 
Algebra; a treatise, which from a cursory examination, we 
think superior to any of the text books now in use, for perspi- 
cuity, simplicity of method, and adaptation to the comprehen- 
sion of learners. It contains several chapters on Logarithms 
and the subjects connected thereto, which, though interesting 
and important, are not usually appended to works on the 
Buliject. — Fredericksburg Political Arena. 

The publishers take great pleasure in presenting the ac- 
companying opinion of Profesor Adrain, of the University 
of Pennsylvania, who has introduced the work into that 
Institution. 

University of Pennsylvania, March 30, 1833. 
Gentlemen — 

In compliance with your request, that I would give 

fou my opinion respecting your edition of Bridge's Algebra, 
beg leave to say, that the work appears to me to be well 
adapted to the instruction of students. The arrangement of 
the several parts of the science is judicious, and the exam- 
ples are numerous and well selected. 

Yours respectfully, 

ROBERT ADRAIN. 

Philadelphia, March 1th, 1833. 
Bridge's Algebra is the text book in the school under my 
care ; and I am better pleased with it than with any which 
I liave heretofore used. 

'1 he author is very clear in his explanations, and system- 
atic in his arrangement, and has succeeded in rendering a 
Comparatively abstruse branch of science, an agreeable and 
interesting exercise both to pupil and teacher. 

JOHN FROST. 



POPULAR WORKS 7 

THE CHRISTIAN LIBRARY, is published semi, 
monthly. The' first number was issued on the first day of 

May. 

The design of the work is to publish, 

1. The most valuable Religious and Literary works which 
appear from tlie Eiiglisli press. In selecting from the former 
class, sectarianism will be studiously avoided ; from the latter, 
such only will be chosen as Christians may with propriety 
circulate. 

2. Translations of valuable works from the Continental 
press : and occasionally original productions of American 
writers. 

3. Standard works which may be out of print ; and se- 
lections from such as are accessible to but few. 

4. Brief reviews of such books as do not fall within the 
plan of this work ; so that the reader may be enabled to be- 
come speedily acquainted with most of the publications of the 
day, and to form, in some measure, an estimate of tlieir value. 

The editors are pledged to favor no religious, much less 
any political party ; but to act on those great principles in 
which all Evangelical Christiins agree. The degree of 
confidence which may be reposed in their faithfulness and 
ability will be learned from the attestations of the distinguished 
individuals given below. 

The publishers have made arrangements to receive from 
Europe copies of all popular works suitable for this publica- 
tion, as soon as they are issued from the press, and will be 
enabled on the above plan, to furnish, by course of mail, the 
most distant subscribers with their copies before the same 
book could be procured even in our cities, through the usual 
method of publication. 

The Christian Library is published semi-monthly, on 
fine paper, with a fair type, for five dollars a year. Each 
number will contain forty-eight extra-imperial or double me- 
dium octavo pages, in double column. The work will thus 
form two volumes of 576 pages each ; an amount of matter 
equal to thirty volumes 13mo, of 264 pages each. The 



8 NEW AND 

usual price of such volumes is from 50 to 75 cents ; on the 
plan of this publication, subscribers will receive them at 
16 1-2 cents each. 

The Postage on the Christian Library is 1 1-2 cts. per sheet 
under 100 miles, over that distance 2 1-2 cents. 

Terms. — Five dollars per annum, in advance, or six dollars 
at the end of the year. 

THE CHRISTIAN OBSERVER.— K.&B. also pub- 
lish the London Christian Observer ; same size and style as 
Christian Library ; subscription, $ 1 25 per annum, in ad- 
vance, or $ 1 50 if paid at the end of the year. The Ob- 
server and Library will be securely wrapped and mailed, so as 
to go to any part of the country. (The Observer has cost 
heretofore $C per annum.) 

The Library & Observer are recommended in the high- 
est terms by the following distinguished gentlemen : — 

G. T. Bedell, D. D., Thomas M'Auley, D. D. L. L. D., 
Thomas Skinner, D. D., A. Nettleton, Author of Village 
Hymns, William T. Brantley, D. D., W. D. Snodgrass, D. 
D., G. R. Livingston, D. D., Stephen H. Tyug, D. D., A. 
Alexander, D. D., Rev. Charles Hodge, A. M., Rev. J. L. 
Dagg, Rev. Wm. E. Ashton, Samuel Miller, D. D., James 
Carnahan, D. D., Rev. J. Maclean, A. M., Rev. Albert B. 
Dod, A. M., Chas. P. M'llvaine, D. D. John Breckenridge, 
A. M., W. C. Brownlee, D. D., Rev. G. W. Ridgeley, A. M., 
Rev. Charles H. Alder, A. M., Cornelius D. Westbrooke, 
D. D., James Milnor, D. D., M. Eastburn, A. M., G. 
Spring, D. D., W. W. Phillips, D. D., Samuel H. Cox, D. 
D., R. M'Cartee, D. D., J. M. Matthews, D. D. 

If the first number, which we have received, is a fair spe- 
cimen of the work, we are prepared to speak of it in terms of 
the highest commendation. It contains the whole of the 
life of Robert Hall, by Dr. Gregory, and his character by 
Mr. Foster. We confess tliat we have shared in the alarm 
of many good people at the multipiiL-ation of books. We 
have been anxious to see " to what this would grow." We 
have felt alarm for the healthiness and vigour of the public 
mind. Such constant stuffing, such gorging with books, — 
surely, thought we, we shall have a generation of mental dys- 



POPULAR WORKS. 9 

peptics, or at the best, of bloated, pot-bellied epicures, instead 
of the liale, racy, well-proportioned minds of a former age. 
We have had a feeling of absolute despair, aswe have peram- 
bulated the choked aisles of a modern book-store, and have 
felt that we needed Virgil's 

"Centum linguae, centumque ora," 
with the hundred hands of Briareus, if we ever expected to 
read and handle the myriads of new books. But we are 
cured of such feelings. We are glad to see a new book, if it 
be a good one. And we rejoice at every new expedient to 
make them as cheap as possible. Every good book will have 
a circle of patrons and readers, even if we can not read it, 
and there will be more good done on the whole, than by a 
smaller number of books. Besides, the only way to meet the 
armies of infidel and licentious books, is to array against 
them an equaU number of good books. The book mania 
whicii has seized the public, must be satisfied in some way; 
and if there are not good books enough, and that too in the 
newest and most popular style, to fill the social and circulat- 
ing libraries, and give occupation to the millions of active 
minds in the country, their place will be filled by such books 
as the novels of Bulwer, and the poems of Byron and Shelly 
and Moore. Messrs. Key and Biddle, if they execute their 
plan as they have promised and begun, will deserve the thanks, 
and receive the patronage of the community. — Journal of 
Humanity. 

The first part of Vol. 1, of this periodical is before us. It 
is made up of a most interesting Memoir of the eloquent di- 
vine, Rol)ert Hall, and the commencement of a History of the 
Reformed Religion in France. It would really seem that 
knowledge is about to be brought to every man's door, how- 
ever distant, and served up to him in the most agreeable 
forms for a mere trifle. — Commercial Herald. 

We have received the first number of the Christian Li- 
brary, which contains an intensely interesting Memoir of 
Robert Hall, by Olynthus Gregory. The incidents of the 
life of such a man, in the hands of such a writer, could not 
be otherwise than captivating. — Fredericksburg Arena. 

Judging from the plan of the work, and also from the 
number before us, we believe it well calculated to disseminate 
the light of the gospel, and we think that every Christian's 
library would be enriched by it. We would particularly re- 
commend it to the ministers of our church, who, from their 



10 NEW AND 

situation, being located in the " far west," have not an oppoif- 
tunity of procuring the many valuable books which are issu- 
ing from the press in Europe and middle and eastern states. 
By subscribing for this work, in a few years, for a comparative 
trifle, they may possess an extensive and valuable religious 
library, calculated to impart to them useful and important in- 
formation, which is above all price; and to give them a per- 
fect knowledge of what is now doing for the extension of the 
Redeemer's kingdom throughout the world, and consequently, 
to keep them up with the spirit and improvements of the 
age. — Nashville Revivalist. 

The Christian Library, of which Messrs. Key & Biddle, 
of Minor street, have just published the first part, is a work 
which will command the respect and patronage of all profess- 
ors of religion, irrespective of sects. The Ldbrary is con- 
ducted with a free, judicious spirit of selection; and if the 
first number may be deemed a fair specimen, will abound 
with instructive tales and useful matter. In so good a cause, 
the publishers deserve the hearty good will of those for 
whom they will furnish, at a price singularly reasonable, a 
large amount of most valuable information, on the most im- 
portant of all subjects. — Philadelphia Gazette. 

We beg leave to inform our country friends thatthe Chris- 
tian Library continues to deserve the approbation, and to de- 
mand the patronage of the religious and moral public. — 
Avierican Sentinel. 

The plan of the Christian Library has met the decided 
approbation of the Clergy of various denominations, and as 
the selections made for it will be exempt from all tincture of 
sectarianism, we think it can not fail to be acceptable to Chris- 
tians of the different persuasions. — Berks <^- Schuylkill 
Journal. 

The first number of the Christian Library contains the 
Memoir of that interesting divine, Robert Hall, and is well 
executed. It will unquestionably prove a valuable work. — 
Baptist Mission <|' Home Repository Record. 

The 3d part of vol. 1. is before us, in which we are glad 
to find a beginning of the life of Cowper, by Taylor. This 
life, alone, is worth more than" a year's subscription. — Co7n- 
mercial Herald. 

The Christian Library. — We have just received the 
first number of this truly valuable publication. From the 



POPULAR WORKS. 11 

prospectus, and recommendations which we had seen, we 
were prepared to think highly of the work, but the appear- 
ance of the first number far exceeds our expectations. It 
contains the Memoir of Hev. Robert Hall, by Dr. Gregory, 
and commences a valuable work on the " Reformation in 
France," by the Rev. Edward Smedley, of Cambridge, 
England. In the cheapness, and solid value of its materials, 
this work promises to surpass every thing of the kind hith- 
erto published. It is truly gratifying to see the periodical 
Press so efficiently employed in disseminating substantial 
religious knowledge, instead of the light trash and worse 
than useless fictions with which it has been hitherto bur- 
dened. 

We are in earnest in commending this publication, and 
sincerely hope that among all Christian people, it will utterly 
supplant the whole tribe of periodical novels, romances and 
the like. 

Among the many recommendations to this work, the 
Episcopalians of Ohio will notice that of our diocesan ex- 
pressed in no very measured terms. — Gambler Observer. 

Christian Library. — The style and appearance, and, we 
may add, the contents of the first number, which we have 
before us, can not fail to meet the approbation of Evangelical 
Christians of every denomination. — Southern Religious 
Telegraph. 

Those who have leisure for extensive reading, and are de- 
termined to procure valuable works as they appear, will not 
frudge nine or ten cents per month to have such a volume 
rought to their door. The mail is much more usefully em- 
ployed in conveying the means of solid reading, than in the 
transportation of such trash as abounds in political papers 
and electioneering pamphlets. Papers and periodicals of 
this description are doing much to reform the public taste. 
The first number will furnish the reader with Dr. Gregory's 
Memoir of Hall. — Zion's Advocate, {Portland.) 

From the specimen before us we consider the Christian 
Library a very cheap and valuable work. — Christian Senti- 
nel. 

We anticipate a useful auxiliary to Christianity in this 
publication, and wish it much suceess. — Christian Guar- 
dian. 



12 NEW AND 

PHILOSOPHY OF A FUTURE STATE, 
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION. 
CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHER. 

By Thomas Dick. 
Philadelphia, Key (f- Biddle. 

In the first of the works whose titles head this article, 
Mr. Dick has endeavoured to prove, that man is an immortal 
being. His arguments are drawn from various sources, and 
he has judiciously availed himself of the recent discoveries 
in science, in illustrating the connexion of intellectual im- 
provement, with the state of future existence. 

Mr. Dick has displaced in this work, considerable extent 
of know'edge, and the industry manifested in collecting and 
arranging his numerous and diversified materials, will meet 
with the decided approbation of every intelligent Christian. 

The Philosophy of Religion is a production of no less 
value than the preceding, it is an attempt by the pious and 
indefatigable author, to illustrate the moral being of the uni- 
verse, and to delineate the obligations of man to God — to 
show howreasonable and excellentthe precepts of revealed reli- 
gion are, and how well they are adapted to the condition of man, 
how certainly their practical adoption is productive of peace 
and joy, and how bright under all circumstances are the 
hopes, and soothing the consolations of the Christian. It is 
an excellent book, and may be read with advantage, by all 
sects of Christians. 

The Christian Philosopher, which next claims our atten- 
tion, is to the j)hilosophic inquirer more interesting than 
either of the preceding two. It is a scientific investigation 
into the existence and attributes of a great first cause, and 
the author has evidently come to his subject well prepared, 
securely assured, and ready to give a reasonable answer to 
the sceptical questioner for the hope that is within him. The 
author has successfully combated the ridiculous ideas of those 
zealous but ignorant christians who reject all human know- 
ledge as vain and useless. He has shown that the study 
and contemplation of the laws of the natural world, elevate 
the mind in its conceptions of the power, wisdom and good- 
ness of God, and that every advance in knowledge, every 
discovery in science, tends to confirm our faith, exalt our 
views and refine our dispositions, and thus improve us in 
moral and religious feeUngs and principles. 

Mr. Dick very justly observes that "the man who would 



POPULAR WORKS. 13 

discard the efforts of the human intellect, and the science of 
Nature from Religion, forgets — that He who is the author 
of human redemption is also the Creator and governor of 
the whole system of the material universe — that il is one end 
of that moral renovation which the Gospel eflects, to qualify 
us for contemplating aright the displays of Divine Perfection 
which the works of creation exhibit, that the visible works 
of God are the principal medium by which he displays the 
attributes of this nature to intelligent beings — that the study 
and contemplation of these works employ the faculties of in- 
telligences of a superior order — that man, had he remained 
in primeval innocence, would have been cliiefly em|)loyed in 
such contemplations — that it is one main design of divine re- 
velation to illustrate the operations of Providence, and the 
agency of God in the formation and preservation of all things — 
and that the scriptures are full of sublime descriptions of the 
visible creation, and of interesting references to thevarious ob- 
jects which adorn the scenery of nature. In these opinions we 
entirely concur, and we are certain that every believer in the 
Gospel of Christ, will have his soul expanded, his energies 
awakened, and all his faculties and powers enlarged by in- 
vestigating the laws of the Universe. God is every where; 
we perceive his wisdom in the organization of a man, and 
a tree; every animal on earth, all objects in nature, organized 
or unorganized, exhibit the power, the skill, and the Uenevo- 
lenceof the Creator. 

Mr. Dick's book contains many important facts in relation 
to the laws of matter and motion, illustrated by familiar ex- 
positions, and well adapted to the comprehension of the gen- 
eral reader. We have rarely perused a work with more 
pleasure and profit, and we are confiderit that it will prove 
a valuable and useful addition to every family library. To 
the young divine just commencing his ministerial labours, it 
will be of much benefit, it will supply him with topics for ex- 
emplification, upon which he can expatiate with the fervour 
and eloquence of genius, and all the enthusiasm of a finer, 
but rational and ardent Christian. 

In dismissing these productions of Mr. Dick, we cordially 
commend them to the attention of our readers. 

EXAMPLE; OR FAMILY SCENES.— This is one 
of those useful and truly moral publications which can not 
fail to be read with delight by the youth of both sexes, who, 
as their hearts expand, and they advance in years, have need 
of some instructor to point out the path they should follow 
for their future happiness. The author has been triumphantly 
2 



14 NEW AND 

successful in attaining these laudable objects in this interes- 
ting publication." Weekly Times. 

The form of a domestic story is here judiciously selected 
for imparting a purity of religious feeling to juvenile readers; 
and the purpose as fully answered. Adults may also read this 
interesting volume with much benefit. United Kingdom. 

FOX'S BOOK OF MARTYRS. A Universal His- 
tory of Christian Martyrdom, from the Birth of our Blessed 
Saviour to the latest Periods of Persecution. Originally com- 
posed by the Rev. John Fox, A. M., and now corrected 
throughout; with copious and important additions relative to 
the Recent Persecutions in the south of France. In 2 vols. 
8vo., beautifully printed on fine and remarkably strong pa- 
per. Being the only complete and unrautilated edition of 
this work ever presented to the American Public. Embel- 
lished with a Portrait of the venerable Fox, and Sixty En- 
gravings illustrative of the suffering Martyrs in all ages of 
the world. 

" We commend the enterprise of the publishers, which has 
induced them to incur the heavy expense requisite for the pro- 
duction of this costly and elegant book. They have thereby 
rendered a service to the cause of true Christianity; and we 
can not doubt that they will meet with ample remuneration 
in the approbation of the public. An additional recommen- 
dation is furnished in the extreme lowness of the price, 
thereby rendering the book accessible to the pocket of every 
class of Christians. It is a work of intense interest; and 
whether as a volume of Ecclesiastical History, or for occa- 
sional perusal, richly merits a place on the shelves of every 
family library." Christian Advocate. 

GUY ON ASTRONOMY, AND AN ABRIDGE- 
MENT OF KEITH ON THE GLOBES, 2 volumes 
in 1, 18mo. 

A school book of this sort has long been a desideratum in 
our seminaries. It comprises a popular Treatise on Astrono- 
my ; together with the admirably clear definitions, and nearly 
all the problems of Keith. The whole is contained in a neat 
volume, and afforded at a very low price. The publishers 



POPULAR WORKS. 15 

would particularly call the attention of parents and teachers 
to the above work. 

HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES, in 1vol. 

12mo. By Thomas Hughs. Embellished with a great 

number of beautiful wood cuts. 

The publishers announce this work with the hightest feel- 
ings of satisfaction. The three objects they have had in view 
are cheapness, beauty of embellishment, and novelty of mat- 
ter, combined with accuracy of research. The name of the 
author (who is already favourably known by several previous 
works for schools) is a sufficient guarantee of the manner in 
which this book will be executed. It will not be uninteresting 
to state that the sources from which some of the materials of 
this school book are derived, are inaccessible to any except 
the present writer; whose business it has also been to attempt 
the attainment of that which has hitherto been overlooked, 
as of no importance, viz: elegance of style, which may in- 
terest at the same time that it will aid in forming the taste of 
the youthful reader. 

A HARMONY OF THE FOUR GOSPELS. 
Founded on the Arrangement of the Harmonia Evangelica, 
by the Rev. Edward Greswell. With the Practical Reflec- 
tions of Dr. Doddridge. Designed for the use of Families 
and Schools, and for PriiKite Edification. By the Rev. 
E. Bickersteth, Rector of Wolton, Herts." 

A beautiful duodecimo of about four hundred pages; and 
one of the best books which has appeared for many years, 
with respect to personal and domestic edification. It is next 
to impossible to read the ordinary Harmonies. The current 
of the narrative is broken by constant interruptions. In this, 
we have in convenient sections, the four Gospel histories, 
made up into one, in proper order, in the words of the com- 
mon English translation. The devotional notes of Dodd- 
ridge are better than any we have seen for reading in the 
closet or at family worship. The name of Bickersteth, pre- 
fixed to a book, is enough to show that it is written simply to 
serve the cause of Christ. The Presbyterian. 

Messrs. Key &Biddle of this city, have published a beautiful 
edtionof a popular Harmony of the Four Gospels. A book giv- 
ing a connected and chronological view of the History of our 
Saviour, without an array of critical apparatus which is useless 
and repulsive to the common reader, has long been a desider- 



16 NEW AND 

atum in our religions literature. It is now supplied by the 
labours of Mr. Bickersteth, who is well known as an able, 
judicious and pious writer. Each section of the text is fol- 
lowed by brief practical reflections, from the pen of Dr. 
Doddridge. The volume is well adapted to the purposes for 
which it was designed by the author. — " The use of families 
and schools, and for private edification." Phila. Gaz. 

The religious community will take delight in reading a 
work just published, entitled "A Harmony of the Four 
Gospels." Scarcely any thing has so much puzzled a certain 
order of minds, as the apparent disagreement of parts of the 
New Testament. Nothing so much weakens Christian 
faith as an impression of this sort — whilst nothing tends 
more directly to confirm and strengthen it, than evidence of 
the entire oneness, and harmony of the Gospels. — Com, 
Herald. 

THE HUMOURIST'S OWN BOOK. A cabinet of 
"original and selected anecdotes, bon mots, sports of fancy, and 
traits of character ; intended to furnish occasion for reflec- 
tion as well as mirth. By the author of the Young Man's 
Own Book, &c. 

It is good to be pleased ; and the book which can chase a 
care, or enliven a brow, provided it be pure, is worthy of 
honest recommendation. Such is the character of the volume 
entitled The Humourist's Oicn Book, recently published 
by Messrs. Key and Biddle. The work is made of good 
things, carefully culled ; and the man who can run over them 
all, without a laugh or a smile, is fit for treason. — Phila. 
Gazette. 

Ha ! ye merry dogs, if you want to shake your sides with 
laughter buy this book, for here you have the most delightful 
and varied collection of bon mots, anecdotes, &c., that we 
have ever'seen. — And ye! ye! melancholic, hypochondriacal 
beings, whose countenances are always demure — imagina- 
tions always gloomy, and whose risible muscles are never 
excited to a smile, to say nothing of a laugh, get the hook, 
and your souls will be gladdened with joy — your hearts will 
swell with r.ipture, and if you don't hold your sides tight, 
you'll run the risk of bursting them with laughter. 

It is a charming little work, and the collections have been 
made with much care and judgment. — Saturday Courier. 

Messrs. Key & Biddle have published a neat little volume 



tOPTTLAR WORKS. 17 

entitled, The Humourist's Own Book. It is a feast of fat 
things. — United States Gazette. • 

This is a neat volume of original and selected anecdotes, 
bon mots, &c. They are well chosen, and in every respect 
unexceptionable, fit for the perusal of the most delicate and 
fastidious. — Bait. American and Com. Advertiser. 

THE HAPPINESS OF THE BLESSED, consid- 
ered as to the particulars of their state; their recognition of 
each other in that state; and its difference of degrees. To 
which are added, Mu.sings on the Church and her services. 
By Richard Mant, D. D. M. R. I. A. Lord Bishop of Down 
and Connor. 

The design of the Rev. author in this production, is to 
adduce from scriptural authority, the most satisfactory evi- 
dence, of the happiness and joy of those who by faith follow 
Christ, and who in the exercise of those virtues required by 
the Gospel, are emphatically denominated the children of 
God. The author lias touched upon several topics connected 
with the subject, which must aflbrd much consolation to the 
Christian, wlio from the very nature of his organization, is 
liable to doubts and fearful forebodings as to the state of his 
heart and the grounds of his faith. 

Christian hope, confidence, and charity, are stamped upon 
every page, and the writer deserves well of the Christian 
inquirer, for the industry which he has displayed in collecting 
and arranging so many important and valuable arguments in 
favour of the glorious and resplendent state of the faithful and 
humble disciple of Jesus. 

In this world, mankind have need of consolation — of the 
cup of sorrow all must drink — happiness is a phantom, a 
meteor, beautiful and bright, always alluring us by its glow — 
forever witliin our reach, but eternally eluding our grasp — 
but this state of things was designed by our Creator for our 
benefit — it was intended to withdraw our affections from the 
shadowy and unsubstantial pleasures of the world, to the 
Father of all in Heaven, and to prepare by discipline and zeal, 
for a state, beyond tiie grave, of felicity, which eye hath not 
seen, ear hath not heard, neither hath it entered into the 
heart of man to conceive of To our readers we cheerfully 
commend this delightful volume, confident that by its perusal 
the faith of the doubtful will be confirmed, and the anticipa- 
tive hope of the confident increased. Christian's Magazine. 
3* 



18 



NEW AND 



We take the earliest opportunity of introducing to our 
readars tliis excellent little book, to which the deeply interest- 
ing nature of the subject and the well earned reputation of 
the Right Rev. author will secure no inconsiderable portion 
of attention. The vast importance of the topics herein treated, 
and the valuable practical effects they may assist in producing, 
induce us to call thus early the public attention to a work, 
small indeed in size, but which is calculated not a little to in- 
form all candid and serious inquirers into a subject hitherto 
involved in much obscurity, but not a little elucidated by the 
present author. — Gentleman's Magazine. 

All wliich are entitled to much commendation, as tending 
to familiarize the young student with the exact phraseology 
of the New Testament, and calculated to recall it, in an 
agreeable way, to the memory of the more advanced Scho- 
lar. — JLil. Gazette. 

It possesses much substantive merit, and is the best Key 
to Chronology of the Gospel History we have met with. — 
Athenaum. 

We have looked over, with great pleasure, a neat little 
Tolume of 188 pages, just published by Key & Biddle, of this 
City, bearing tlie title of " The Happiness of the Blessed." 
It is divided into four chapters, and these chapters into sec- 
tions — eacii section being confined to the particular subject 
designated in it. We are nmch pleased with the entire 
work — but more particularly with the discussion on the 
probability of the blessed recognizing each other, in the hea- 
venly world. Covvper, the poet, we rememl)er, reasons in a 
couple of his letters most delightfully on the subject. 

We cordially recommend this little work. Bishop Mant, 
the author, has opened a spring in it, whence pure and 
wholesome waters will long flow, to refresh and benefit the 
world. — Commercial Herald. 

The Happiness of the Blessed, by Dr Mant, Bishop of 
Down and Connor. — Published l)y Key & Biddle. 'I'his 
work is got up with the usual elegance of those enterprising 
publishers. It is a work of considerable metaphysical re- 
search; is written in a style of animated piety; and whether 
to the professing Christian or the general reader, will readily 
repay a perusal. — Daily Chronicle. 

JOURNAL OF A NOBLEMAN;— Being a narrative 

of his residence at Vienna, during Congress. 

The author is quite spirited in his remarks on occur- 



POPULAR WORKS. 19 

rences, and his sketches of cliaracter are picturesque and 
amusing. We commend this vohime to our readers as a very 
entertaining production. — Daily Intelligencer. 

We presume no one could tai<e up this little volume and 
dip into it, witliout feeling regret at being obliged by any 
cause to put it down before it wras read. The style is fine, 
as are the descriptions, the persons introduced, together with 
the anecdotes, and in general, the entire sketching is by the 
hand of a master. Every thing appears natural — there is no 
affectation of learning — no overstraining — no de|)arture from 
what one would expect to see and hear — all is easy — all 
graceful." — Commercial Herald. 

The volume is a beautiful one; and the matter of it, judg- 
ing from more than a cursory perusal, is well worthy a re- 
commendation, as offering a fair insight into the doings and 
follies of the great, in one of the celebrated capitals of Eu- 
rope. — Sat. Eve. Post. 

LIFE OF A SAILOR— By a Captain in the Navy. 
Two very interesting volumes. — U. S. Gaz. 

"It is from the pen of Captain Chamier, and contains many 
powerful sketches. — Penn'a. Inquirer. 

"The Sailor, who has thus given his life to the world, 
spins as clever a yarn as any landsman or marine would like 
to see recorded. He seems to have been almost every where 
and to have seen nearly every body; and he describes with 
such earnestness and perspicuity, that you are sure he must 
have depicted things just as he found them — penning his re- 
cord when his recollections were fresh, and preserving through- 
out, an aim to be graphic and impressive. He has succeed- 
ed fully, in his effort ; and all who procure his " log," will 
find it as exciting a piece of work, as they ever had the felicity 
to meet with.. — Phil. Gaz. 

Key & BiDDLE, Philadelphia, have published The Life 
or A Sailor, by Captain Frederick Chamier, R. N. in 2 
vols. 12 mo. neatly bound in embossed cloth. 

Most various and amusing volumes, embodying the real 
Adventures of a Captain of the Navy. — Lit. Gaz. 

Captain Chamier has had a full share of adventure and 
undoul)tedly possesses a facility of style, and a playful man- 
ner. If there ever was a story to excite sympathy, to interest 
the feelings, and awaken the imagination of the reading 



20 



NEW AND 



world, it is the story of Sharks in this Autobiography .-»- 

Spectator. 

LIVES OF BANDITTI AND ROBBERS— By C. 

Macfarland, Esq., together with a sketch of the Lives of 
BLACKBEARD, and CAPTAIN KID, by the Ame- 
rican editor. 

This work is deeply interesting throughout; it is full of 
anecdote, bold adventure, daring enterprise, and the narra- 
tive is clear and vigorous — and such are the characters of 
these reckless outcasts of society and the interest in which 
their lives are invested, that we commend it to our readers, con- 
fident that they will be highly entertained. — Sat. Cour. 

These lives, and indeed the whole volume, are of the 
deepest interest — there is nothing in this edition which would 
exclude it from the eyes of the ladies, some improper remarks 
and a very few uninteresting details, having been excluded, 
which are more than compensated for, even as regards quan- 
tity of reading, by the addition made by the American Edi- 
tor. The volume itself is one of the neatest we have lately 
seen, having in fact the appearance of an English Edition — 
it is on very fine white paper, and the impression of the type 
clear and distinct. — Saturday Evening Post. 

Many of the stories in this volume are exceedingly inter- 
esting. — Nat. Gaz. 

We have before us Lives of Banditti and Robbers, in 
one volume, including the livefe of Blackbeard and Captain 
Kidd, prepared for the American Edition. These lives, and 
indeed the whole volume are of the deepest interest. — U. S. 
Gazette. 

The dangers, hardships, and reckless daring of these 
lawless depredators, often impart an intense interest to the 
relation of their deeds, and this interest is not unfrequently 
increased, by their adding generosity to heroism. — N. Y. 
Com. Advertiser. 

LEGENDS OF THE WEST— By James Hall, se- 
cond edition, containing the following beautiful told tales: 

The Backwoodsman The Intestate 

The Divinincr Rod Michael De Lancey 



The Seventh Son 
The Missionaries 



The Emigrants 
The Indian Hater 



POPULAR WORKS. 21 

A Legend of Carondelet The Isle of the Yellow Sands 

The Barrackmaster's Daughter. 

The Indian Wife's Lament. 

We are glad to see a new edition of these well told tales 
of Judge Hall, has recently been published. — Boston Eve. 
Gazette. 

The deserved popularity of these tales of Judge Hall, 
have secured to it the publication of a second edition. His 
sketches are admirably drawn, and his personal familiarity 
with scenery and life in the West have furnished him with 
incidents of peculiar interest, greatly increased by felicitous 
description. — /V. Y. Covi. Advertiser. 

A second edition of Legends of the West has just been 
publislied ; a work to which we have before alluded in de- 
served praise. The favour which the work has found with 
the public, may be seen in the demand for its repetilirtn. It 
deserves, in every respect, the reception it has met with. — 
Sat. Eve. Post. 

Legends OF THE West. By James Hall. 

Philadelphia. Key <f' Biddle. 

The rapid sale of the first, has created a demand for a se- 
cond edition of the work, whose title heads this article. 

The "Legends" comprise twelve articles, one of which 
is poetic. The scenes of these tales are all located in the 
„ far, far West," and the characters are taken from the abo- 
rigines and early emigrants. The difficulties and dangers 
which the first settlers had to undergo, ere they were esta- 
blished in security, are depicted in glowing colours, and with 
a master hand. 

The rude and savage warfare of the Indians, the secret 
ambuscade, the midnight slaughter, the conflagration of the 
log hut in the prairie and forest, the shrieks of consuming 
■women and children, are presented to our minds by the au- 
thor in vivid and impressive language. These tales possess 
much interest, as they are founded in fact, and are illustra- 
tive of the habits of the Indian, and the life of the hunter. 
As a writer. Judge Hall is more American than any other 
we possess ; his scenes are American ; his characters are Ame- 
rican, and his language is American. His personages are 
invested v\ith an individuality which can not be mistaken, 
and his conceptions and illustrations are drawn from the 
great store house of nature. — Daily Intelligencer. 



22 



NEW AND 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, Esq.— Compiled 
from his correspondence and other authenticated sources of 
information, containing remarks on his writings, and on the 
pecuUarities of his interesting character, never before pub- 
lished. By Thomas Taylor. 

Extract from the Preface. 

Many Lives of Cowper have already been published. 
Why then, it may be asked, add to their number? Simply 
because in the opinion of competent judges, no memoir of him 
has yet appeared that gives a full, fair, and unbiassed view 
of his character. 

It is remarked by Dr. Johnson, the poet's kinsman, in his 
preface to the two volumes of Cowper's Private Correspon- 
denccf " that Mr. Haley omitted the insertion of several 
interesting letters in his excellent Life of the poet out of 
kindness to his readers." In doing this, however amiable 
and considerate as his caution must appear, the gloominess 
which he has taken from the mind of Cowper, has the effect 
of involving his character in obscurity. 

In alluding to these suppressed letters, the late highly es- 
teemed Leigh Richmond once emphatically remarked — 
"Cowper's character will never be clearly and satisfactorily 
understood without them, and should be permitted to exist 
for the demonstration of the case. I know the importance 
of it from immerous conversations I have had, both in Eng- 
land and Scotland, on this subject. Persons of truly reli- 
gious principles, as well as those of little or no religion at 
all, have greatly erred in their estimate of this great and 
man." 



In this work all that is necessary and much that is painful 
to know, is told of Cowper, and well told too. — His life was 
much wanted, and we have no doubt that it will be univer- 
sally read and become, like the poems of the man it com- 
memorates, a standard work. Mr. Taylor has our hearty 
thanks for having produced this work, and our commenda- 
tions no less hearty for having produced it so well. — Metro- 
politan. 

LETTERS TO AN ANXIOUS INaUIRER, DE- 
SIGNED TO RELIEVE THE DIFFICULTIES OP 
A FRIEND, UNDER SERIOUS IMPRESSIONS. 
Bv T. Carlton Henry, D. D. late Pastor of the Second 



POPULAR WORKS. 23 

Presbyterian Church, Charleston, S. C. With an Intro- 
ductory Essay, (in which is presented Dr. Henry's Preface to 
his Letters, and his Life, by a friend.) By G. T. Bedell, 
D. D. Rector of St. Andrew's Church, Philadelphia. 

MEMOIRS OF HORTENSE BEAUHARNAIS, 

DUCHESS OF ST. LEU AND EX-aUEEN OF 

HOLLAND. 

This is an interesting account of a conspicuous character. 
She was the daughter of Josephine Beauharnais, alias, or af- 
terwards, Josephine Buonaparte, former wife of Napoleon of 
France ; and she became the wife of Louis Buonaparte, the 
ex-king of Holland. Of those who have figured as large on 
the great theatre of life, at one of the most memorable eras 
in history, many interesting anecdotes are given. We can 
safely recommend this worlc to the reading public. — Ameri- 
can Sentinel. 

No one of all those distinguished personages who occupied 
so large a space in the world's eye, from their connexion vvith 
Napoleon, presents a story of deeper interest than the amia- 
ble and accomplished subject of these memoirs. Possessing 
all the grace and fascination of manner, which so eminently 
characterized her mother the Empress Josephine, she has a 
strength and cultivation of intellect ; an extent and variety of 
knowledge; and a philosophic fortitude which the empress 
never could boast. Unhappy in her marriage, she was yet 
a devoted wife and fond mother; and though gifted with 
every quality to adorn royalty, she willingly withdrew to the 
shades of private life, resigning the crown she had embellished 
without a murmur. 

Many of the details of this work will be found deeply inter- 
esting, and the notes are copious and instructing. The 
translator has faithfully preserved the spirit of his original. — 
Saturday Courier. 

Sometime ago we read this little volume in French, and 
found it strongly attractive. We regard it as an autobiog- 
raphy in great part. The historical as well as the personal 
details reward attention. — National Gazette. 

No one of all those distinguished personages who occupied 
so large a space in the world's eye, from their connexion with 
Napoleon, presents a story of deeper interest, than the amia- 



24 



NEW AND 



ble and accomplished subject of these memoirs. " Possessing 
all the grace and fascination of manner, which so eminently 
characterized her mother, the Empress Joseijhine, she has a 
strength and cultivation of intellect, an extent and variety 
of knowledjre, and a philosophic fortitude, which the empress 
never could boast. Unhappy in her marriage, slie was yet 
a devoted wife and fond mother; and though gifled with 
every quality to adorn royalty, she willingly witlulrew to the 
shades of private life, resigning the crown she had embellished 
without a murmur." The work belongs to the many me- 
moranda we have of that extraordinary man, whose family 
history is not complete without it. — American Traveller. 

"We have never taken up a book containing anecdotes of the 
eventful period of which this little volume treats, and especi- 
ally of the great actors in that wonderful drama, without ex- 
periencing som.e of the sensations which attend upon the 
sight of some mighty ruin ; or beholding the place in the 
ocean where fleets and armies have been swallowed up. Some- 
times they appear to us like those distant and dark clouds, 
whose edges are fringed with the red light of the setting sun, 
and in whose bosom is seen to struggle the pent up lightning. 
This work will be read, we are certain, with great interest. — 
Commercial Herald. 



NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, being an entirely 
new selection of Speeches, Dialogues, and Poetry, for the 
use of Schools. By Thomas Hughs, Compiler of the Uni- 
versal Class Book and the American Popular Reader. 

A rich collection of pieces from some of the first writers 
in the English language, furnishing a most abundant supply 
of exercises in elocution and declamation. It should find ad- 
mission into every academy, college, and high school, where 
it is an object to form the taste, as well as teach the art of 
speaking. 

American Speaker. — A volume with this title, com- 
prising upwards of two hundred pages, has just been issued 
by Messrs. Key & Riddle, of this city. It has been com- 
piled by Thomas Hughs, Esq., the compiler of the 'Univer- 
sal Class Book' and the 'American Popular Reader,' and is 
designed for the use of schools. It embraces a selection or 
speeches, dialogues eind poetry, made up with great discern- 



POPXTLAR WORKS. 25 

ment, we think, from the best authors, foreign and domestic, 
ancient and modern. Mr. Hughs is well calculated to ren- 
der such a book valuable, and from the perusal we have given 
manj' of the articles, we should suppose this ' Speaker' vvould 
soon find a place in n-ost of our public seminaries. 

Among the American writers, whose productions have 
been introduced into this volume, "we observe with pleasure 
the names of Hopkinson, Brown, Canning, Payne, Web- 
ster, Everett, Ames, Clay, Randolph, Halleck, Bryant, 
Adams, and others. We shall enrich our first page with ex- 
tracts from it in a day or two, and take pleasure in commend- 
ing it to those having charge of our public and private 
schools. — Pennsyhania Inquirer. 

IRISH ELOCLUENCE.— The Speeches of the cele- 
brated Irish Orators, Phillips, Curran, and Grattan ; to 
which is added, the Powerful Appeal of Robert Emmett, 
at the close of his trial for high treason. In 1 vol. 8vo. 

The above work forms a complete and unique school of 
Irish oratory. To every member of the bar, to every clergy- 
man, to every aspirant to political influence and admission 
into the legislative halls of his country, this practical text 
book of eloquence will be an honoured manual ; and scarcely 
less does it recommend ilself to every lover of literature, and 
each promoter of his country's good, who will both be re- 
warded for the purchase, the one by its high literary merits, 
and the other in the glowing pictures it presents to him of per- 
sonal sacrifice on the altar of public weal. — Untied Stales 
Gazette. 

The Speeches of Phillips, Curran, Grattan, and Emmett, 
have been published in a neat octavo volume, by Key & Bid- 
die, of this city. 

It is unnecessary for us to say any thing as to the merit of 
these splendid displays of eloquence, which have stanified an 
immortality on the above named orators. Their merits are 
well known, and wherever these speeches have been read, 
they have been admired. 

The volume is neatly " got up," the paper is good, the type 
is clear, bold and legible, and the binding is substantial and 
durable. — Daily Intelligencer. 

THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE, AND OTHER TALES, 
by James Hall, Esa., author of "Legends of the West," 
&e. 

3 



26 NEW AND 

CONTENTS. 

1. The Soldier's Bride. 

2. Cousin Lucy and the Village Teacher, 

3. Empty Pockets. 

4. The Captain's Lady. 

5. The Philadelphia Dun. 

6. The Bearer of Despatches. 

7. The Village Musician. 

8. Fashionable "Watering- Places. 

9. The Useful Man. 

10. The Dentist. 

11. The Bachelor's Elysium. 
13. Pete Featherton. 

13. The Billiard Table. 

We have just risen from the perusal of the Soldier's Bride. 
The impression it leaves upon the mind is like that which 
we receive from the sight of a landscape of rural beauty and 
repose — or from the sound of rich and sweet melody. Every 
part of this delightful tale is redolent of moral and natural 
loveliness. The writer belongs to the same class with Irving 
and Paulding ; and as in his descriptions, characters and 
incidents, he never loses sight of the true and legitimate 
purpose of fiction, the elevation of the taste and moral cha- 
racter of his readers, he will contribute his full share to the 
creation of sound and healthful literature. — United States 
Gazette. 

Key & Biddle have recently published another series of 
Tales — the Soldier's Bride, &c. by James Hall. The approba- 
tion every where elicited by Judge Hall's Legends of the 
West, has secured a favourable reception for the present vo- 
lume ; and its varied and highly spirited contents, consisting of 
thirteen tales, will be found no less meritorious than his pre- 
vious labours. — National Gazette. 

We have found much to admire in the perusal of this in- 
teresting work. It abounds in correct delineation of charac- 
ter, and although in some of his tales, the author's style is 
familiar, yet he has not sacrificed to levity the dignity of his 
pen, nor tarnished his character as a chaste and classical 
writer. At the present day, when the literary world is flooded , 
with fustian and insipidity, and the public taste attempted to 
be vitiated by the weak and effeminate productions of those 



POPULAR WORKS. 27 

whose minds are as incapable of imagining the lofty and 
generous feelings they would pouitray, as their hearts are of 
exercising them, it is peculiarly gratifying to receive a work, 
from the pages of which the eye may cater with satisfaction, 
and the mind feast with avidity and benefit. — Pittsburg 
Mercury. 

THE TESTIMONY OP NATURE AND REVE- 
LATION TO THE BEING, PERFECTIONS AND 
GOVERNMENT OF GOD. By the Rev. Henry Fer- 
gus, Dunfermline, Author of the History of the United 
States of America, till the termination of the War of In- 
dependence, in Lardners' Cyclopedia. 

The Rev. Mr. Fergus's Testimony of Nature and Reve- 
lation to the Being, Perfection and Government of God, is 
an attempt to do in one volume what the Bridgwater Trea- 
tises are to do in eight. We wish one-eighth of the reward 
only may make its way to Dunfermline. Mr. Fergus's 
Treatise goes over the whole ground with fervour and ability; 
it is an excellent volume, and may be had for somewhere 
about half the price of one Bridgwater octavo. London 
Spectator. 

TALES OF ROMANCE, FIRST SERIES. This 
is not only an uncommonly neat edition, but a very enter- 
taining book ; how could it be otherwise when such an array 
of authors as the following is presented. 

The work contains Ali's Bride, a tale from the Persian, by 
Thomas Moore, interspersed with poetry. The Last of the 
Line, by Mrs. S. C. Hall, an author who sustains a reputa- 
tion which every succeeding production greatly enhances. 
The Wire Merchant's Story, by the author of the King's 
Own. The Procrastinator, by T. Croften Croker. The 
Spanish Beadsman. The Legend of Rose Rocke, by the 

author of Stories of Waterloo. Barbara S , by 

Charles Lamb. A Story of the Heart. The Vacant Chair, 
by J. M. Wilson; and the Q,ueenof the Meadows, by Miss 
Mitford. 

This volume has no pretentions to the inculcation of 
mawkish sensibility. We have read every word of it, and 
can confidently recommend it to our friends. — Journal of 
Belles Letters, 



28 



NEW AND 



YOUNG MAN'S OWN BOOK— A Manual of Po- 
liteness, Intellectual Improvement, and Moral Deportment, 
calculated to form the character on a solid basis, and to in- 
sure respectability and success in life. 

Its contents are made up of brief and well written essays 
upon subjects very judiciously selected, and will prove a use- 
ful and valuable work to those who give it a careful reading, 
and make proper use of those hints which the author throws 
out. — Boston Traveller. 

We cheerfully recommend a perusal of the Young Man's 
Own Book to ail our young friends, for we are convinced that 
if they read it faithfully, they will find themselves both wiser 
and better. — The Young Man's Advocate. 

In the Young Man's Own Book, much sound advice, 
upon a variety of im[)ortant subjects is administered, and a 
large number of rules are laid down for the regulation of con- 
duct, the practice of which can not fail to ensure respecta- 
bility. — Saturday Courier. 

YOUNG LADY'S OWN BOOK, a Manual of Intel- 

lectual Improvement and Moral Deportment. By the author 

of the Young Man's Own Book. 

Messrs. Key and Biddle, of this city, have published a 
very neat little volume, entitled, The Young Lady's Owm 
Book. Its contents are well adapted to its useful purpose. — 

National Gazette. 

The Young Lady's Own Book seems to us to have 
been carefully prepared, to comjirehend much and various 
instruction of a practical character, and to correspond in its 
contents with its title. — Young Man's Advocate. 

The Young Lady's Own Book, embellished with beauti- 
ful engravings, should be in the hands of every young fe- 
male. — Inquirer. 

All tlie articles in the Young Lady's Own Book are of 
a useful and interesting character. — N. Y. Com. Adv. 

WACOUSTA, OR THE PROPHECY; A Tale 

OF THE CaNADAS. 2 vols. 

This work is of a deeply interesting character, and justly 
lays claim to be of the highest cast. We think it decidedly 



POPULAR WORKS. 29 

superior to any production of the kind which has recently 
emanated from the press. It abounds with thrilling scenes, 
and the author has displayed a power of delineation rarely 
surpassed. — Daily Intelligencer. 

We have read it, and unhesitatingly pronounce it one of 
the most deeply interesting works of fiction which has met 
our eye for many a month. It is a historical novel — the 
scenes of which are laid principally at Detroit and Macki- 
na — and some of the tragic events which those places wit- 
nessed in the early settlement of the country, are given with 
historic accuracy — particularly the massacre of Mackina. — 
The author is evidently conversant with Indian strategem 
and with Indian eloquence ; and has presented us with spe- 
cimens of both, truly characteristic of the untutored savage. 
We would gladly present our readers with an extract from 
this interesting work, did our limits permit. In lieu of an ex- 
tract, however, we commend the work itself to them. — Covi- 
mercial Herald. 

The principal personage of this novel is a savage chief, 
and the story of his retreat, bearing ofl' captive the daughter 
of the Governor, is told with thrilling effect. It is well 
written throughout, and abounds with interesting scenes. — 
Commercial Advertiser. 

ZOE, OR THE SICILIAN SAYDA.— As an his- 
torical romance, embellished with the creations of a lively 
imagination, and adorned with the beauties of a classic mind, 
this production will take a high rank, and although not so 
much lauded as a Cooper or an Irving, he may be assured 
that by a continuance of his efforts, he will secure the ap- 
probation of his countrymen, and the reward of a wide spread 
fame. — Daily Intelligencer. 

We do not call attention to this on account of any previ- 
ous reputation of its author ; it possesses intrinsic merit, and 
will obtain favour because it merits it. It is historical, and 
the name and circumstances are to be found in the records of 
those times. The plot is ably conceived, the characters are 
vividly, and some are fearfully drawn. — Boston American 
Traveller. 

We lately spoke in terms of approbation of a new novel 
from the pen of a young American, entitled "Zoe; or the 
Sicilian Sayda." A friend, who has read it with great 
pleasure, and who speaks of its merits in strong terms of 
praise, has furnished us with the following notice : — 
3* 



30 NEW AND 

"The book wherever read is admired, and among a con- 
siderable variety of persons, learned and ignorant, grave and 
gay, sad and serious, all have but one manifestation of feel- 
ing — and that feeling delight. 

Cooper has been called the Scott, and Irving the Addison 
of America; and the author of Zoe, without any imputation 
of vanity or arrogance, can justly lay claim to some of the 
attributes of both. With all the description, energy, and 
grandeur of the former, he possesses the classic graces, and 
elegant refinements of the latter. Comparisons, it is said, 
are always odious, but, as in this instance, we have brought 
forward the names of two of our most distinguished country- 
men in the field of American letters, not for the purpose of 
detracting from their high and justly appreciated merits, but 
for adding another one to the number of this small but bril- 
liant galaxy, we shall be acquitted of any sinister attempt to 
elevate another at the expense of those whose fame is 
widely spread and firmly established. 

Zoe is a production, which will rank among the highest and 
most successful creations of the imagination. It is replete 
with interest, from the first chapter to the last; the story 
never flags, the dialogues never tire ; and the varied charac- 
ters who figure in the, plot, are invested with an individuality 
which at once impresses upon the mind tlie graphic skill, and 
vivid conceptions of the author. Interesting and all absorb- 
ing as the personages are, there is one, however, of whom to 
reail is to love; the dark-eyed, feeling, beautiful and self sacri- 
ficing Zoe. It is she that appears embodied before our eyes, 
in all the fascination of beauty ; and it is she that we part 
with in ail the combined feelings of affection, admiration and 
regret. 

But it is not our purpose to pourtray the charming heroine 
of the story. 

For the nameless attraction of her mind, the glowing ardour 
of her feelings, and the thousand fascinating charms with 
which she was invested, — we must refer our readers to the 
book itself. 

In conclusion, we commend Zoe to all who are fond of an 
interesting romance — to all who desire to become acquainted 
with and encourage the merits of our native literature."-— 
Pennsylvania Inquirer. 



POPULAR WORKS. 31 



NEW WORKS, 

IN PRESS, 

BY KEY § BIDDLE, 

THE HOME BOOK OF HEALTH AND MEDI- 
CINE, being a popular treatise on the means of Avoiding 
and Curing Diseases, and of Preserving the Health and 
Vigour of the Body to the latest period: including a full ac^ 
count of the Diseases of Women and Children. 

THE YOUNG MAN'S SUNDAY BOOK.— In con- 
tinuation of the Series commenced by the Young Man's 
Own Book. 

THE WORLD AS IT IS, AND OTHER TALES. 

THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN'S BOOK. By G. T. 
Bedell, D. D. 

THE JOURNAL OF A LUNATIC. 

PROGRESSIVE EXPERIENCE OF THE 
HEART. By Mrs. Stevens. 

YOUNG LADY'S SUNDAY BOOK. By the Att- 
thor of the Young Lady's Own Book. 

THE FAMILY BOOK; a series of Discourses, yith 
Prayers for each Sunday evening in the year; with an In- 
troductory Essay. By the Rev. John Breckinridge. 

HARPE'S HEAD. A Legend of Kentucky. By th© 
Author of Legends of the West. 

LETTERS FROM THE NORTH OF EUROPE. 

By Charles Boileau Elliott, Esq. 

This is one of those remarkably pleasant tours which an 
intelligent gentleman, who has seen much of (he world, i$ 



32 



NEW AND 



alone calculated to write — one of those productions which 
engage the attention and do not fatigue it, and which we 
read from first to last with the agreeable sensation, that we 
are gathering the information of very extensive travel easily, 
by our own fireside. — London Literary Gazette. 

One striking evidence of the rapid progress we are making 
in civilization is the constant and increasing demand for tra- 
vels and voyages. We are no longer contented to live within 
ourselves. The whole world is our theatre. We explore all 
its regions ; nor is there a spot visited by the sun that is 
wholly unknown to us. Our enterprising countrymen go 
forth to collect their intellectual treasures, and return home 
to enrich us with their stores. Every month adds something 
valuable to the general stock. We enjoy the benefit without 
encountering the peril. We sympathise with danger, while 
we feel that it is past, and luxuriate in pleasurable emotions, 
while our hearts thrill with the interest which the daring ad- 
venturer has thrown round himself This species of writing 
has also a charm for every reader. The man of science and 
the rustic, the scholar and the mechanic, sit down with equal 
zest to participate in the mental feast ; and thus knowledge 
is widely diffused — knowledge which invigorates the inward 
nian, enlarging his capacity, and extending the sphere of his 
enjoyments, and which prepares a whole nation for liberal 
institutions, which invests them with political and commercial 
importance, and thus raises them in the scale of nations. The 
success of works of this description stimulates enterprise, 
and opens the largest field for the useful employment of en- 
ergies wiiich might otherwise be wasted. 

Mr. Elliott justly ranks among the most enlightened and 
intelligent of his class. His unpretending volume discovers 
an enthusiastic love of nature, and the most liberal views of 
man in all his diversified conditions. We scarcely ever read 
a work in which there is so little to censure and so much to 
approve. Unlike many of his brethren, he is a good writer: 
his style is pure and classical. He is likewise a philosopher 
and a Christian. We first become his willing associates, 
and our intercourse soon ripens into friendship. We close 
the book with reluctance, and take leave of him with a sigh 
of regret. — London New Monthly Magazine, 

Key & BiDDLE have now in press THE RELIGIOUS 
SOUVENIR— A Christmas, New Year and Birth Day 
Present for 1834. Edited by Gregory T. Bedell, D. D. 



POPULAR WORKS. 33 

Most of the engravings are already finished, and we feel no 

hesitation in saying the volume will be much superior in every 

respect to that of the present year, the success of which may 

be learned from the perusal of the following literary notices. 

A gift book which unites the embellishments of fancy and 
imagination, with a strictly religious and moral tendency in 
the whole texture of tl)e work — a Souvenir which no person 
of strictly religious principles, would hesitiite to place in the 
handsof a valued friend. Such a work has been pronounced 
a desideratum by many, wiiose opinions are regarded with 
deference by the religious community. — The Revivalist. 

The literary character of this Souvenir is of a high order, 
many of the pieces breathe a pure, devotional spirit and Chris- 
tian fervour, and the whole are entirely devoid of sectarianism, 
and clothed in attractive unexceptionable language. Takea 
altogether, the Religious Souvenir is a work tiiat may be 
warmly and generally commended. Meclianically it is a 
beautiful volume, and intellectually, such as does credit to all 
who have contributed to its pages. — Boston Traveller. 

This is an elegant Annual. The pieces are generally of 
a moral and religious tendency, but not the less interesting on 
that acount. — Journal of Commerce. 

The Religious Souvenir is a very beautiful holiday pre- 
sent, is Edited by the Rev. G. T. Bedell, and is devoted to 
moral and religious subjects, all original but one by the artist 
illustrating his own picture. In the initials suliscribed to the 
articles, we recognize several writers who have heretofore 
distinguished themselves by contributions to our periodical 
literature. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

This is really a superb volume; and one which we hope 
will be widely circulated throughout the conmiuiiity. Dr, 
Bedell has shown considerable judgment in theseU'ction and 
disposal of his matter, and we thank him for presenting to 
the public in so inviting a form, a work which is well calcula- 
ted to Ibrm pious feelings, and establish religious principles. — 
Family Journal. 

We doubt not, but many people of piety and taste, who 
wish to ornament their parlour and instruct those who may 
read ; or who desire to bestow a religious remembrancer on 
Bome beloved friend, will call at some book store for Dr. 
Bedell's " Souvenir." — The Philadelphian. 



34 NEW AND 

A volume, too, which does not degrade or disgrace the sub- 
ject — a volume destined, hot to pass away with tlie winter 
greens that adorn our Christmas parlours, but to maintain a 
lasting hold on the attention of the christian community, at 
least so long as good taste and good sense shall have any vote 
in the selection of books. We have read the volume care- 
fully, and do not hesitate to pronounce it one of unusual in- 
terest as well as solid merit. — United States Gazette. 

Messrs. Key & Biddle have made a valuable present to 
religious parents, guardians and friends, in this elegant little 
volume. Why should all our gifts on these occasions be 
worldly or worse 1 And why should religious truth always 
shun the aids of beautiful ornament '? The embellishments 
are attractive, well selected, and well executed. The various 
papers which compose the volume are serious, tasteful, allur- 
ing, imbued with the spirit of the Gospel, in a word, such as we 
should have expected from one so zealous for the cause of 
Christ, and so inventive of happy thoughts as the Rev. Edi- 
tor. This annual may be safely recommended to the Chris- 
tian public. — The Presbyterian. 

To all, therefore, who desire intellectual improvement, and, 
at the same time, the gratification of a true taste — and to all 
who would make a really valuable present to their friends, we 
would say, in conclusion, go and procure the Religious Sou- 
venir. It is not merely a briUiant little ornament for the 
parlour centre table, but a book worthy of a place in every 
sensible man's library. — Cincinnatti Enquirer. 

The typography, embellishments, and general appearance 
of the work, render it fully equal in these respects to any 
of the kind published in our country, while its subjects are far 
more suitable for the contemplation of christians than the 
light reading with which most of them are filled. — Episcopal 
Recorder. 

The articles are not only interesting, but calculated to pro- 
duce a beneficial efiect upon the minds of those who read it, 
therefore, a very proper work for the purpose for which it 
is designed, and hope it may meet with an extensive sale. — 
Baltimore Republican. 

We hail with much pleasure this attempt to convey religious 
truth in a garb at once pleasing and instructive. The popu- 
lar form of the annual is well adapted to the purpose, and 
may often invite the attention and make a salutary impres- 



POPULAR WORKS. 35 

Bion, where works of a graver character would fail of effect 
when perused, or more probably be never perused at all. We 
commend, therefore, this new effort of Christian philanthro- 
py, and think it likely to be followed by useful results. — 
Charleston Courier. 

In the general character of those fashionable, and as to ap- 
pearance, attractive volumes, the annuals, there is so much' 
that is trashy and unprofitable, that it was with no little mis- 
giving we looked into the pages of one which is now before 
us, entitled " The Religious Souvenir." The matter is 
altogether of religious and moral tendency, not chargeable 
with sectarian bias, and such as the most scrupulous need 
not hesitate to admit into family reading. — The Friend. 

This little work is intended to furnish what was heretofore 
wanted — a Christmas and New Year's offering, which may 
be bestowed and accepted by the most scrupulous. — Pitts- 
burg Gazette. 

We are happy to announce the tasteful appearance and 
valuable matter of the Religious Souvenir for 1833. Dr. 
Bedell is as much distinguished for his belles-lettres attam- 
ment, as for the profoundness of his scholarship and the pu- 
rity of his motives. He has found himself at home in this 
tasteful enterprize and in good company with the associated 
talent of the contributors to his beautiful pages. — N. Y. 
Weekly Messenger. 

The engravings for the work are chiefly from English de- 
signs, by the best American artists, and may challenge com- 
parison with any contemporary works of this country. The 
literary contributions to the volume are in strict accordance 
with the name. — United States Gazette. 

This work is got up in an unusual style of neatness and 
beauty, and ornamented with engravings of great elegance. 
The contents gf the work are, as might have been expected 
from the high character of the Editor, of a moral and religious 
description, intended to produce the best effects upon the 
minds of its readers. — Daily Advertiser. 

Messrs. Key & Biddle have published a handsome little 
volume, entitled Religious Souvenir, and edited by the Rev. 
Dr. Bedell. It is embelhshed with beautiful engravings, and 
printed with elegance. The literary contents are very good — 
soundly pious, and free of all invidious remark or allusion. 
True Christianity is that which purifies the heart, liberalizes 
the feelings, and amends the conduct. — National Gazette. 



36 POPULAR WO»KS. 

MEMOIRS OF DR. BURNEY, arranged from his 
own Manuscript, from family papers, antl from personal re- 
collections, by iiis (laughter, Madfime D'Arblay. 

Tiie Montlily Review in noticing the Memoirs of Dr. 
Burney, expresses the ojiiyion " (hat a mere amusing and 
profitable production has nut appeared for many years." 

Several literary gentlemen on tiiis side of the Atlantic who 
have examined the work, declare that next to Boswell's Life 
of Johnson, it is the most attractive and interesting memoir 
ever puhlished. 

TRANSATLANTIC SKETCHES, comprising visits 
to the most interesting scenes in North and South America, 
and tiie West Indies, with notes on negro slavery and Cana- 
dian emigration, by Capt. J. E. Alexander, 42d Royal High- 
landers, F. R. G. S. M. R. A. S. etc. author of Travels in 
Asia, Persia, etc. 

THE ARISTOCRAT, by the author of Zoe, «&c. 




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